Midnight: Blood Moon
by JakeTheStoryTeller
Summary: After the abrupt departure of Jack, his vampire love, Hiccup finds comfort in his deepening friendship with Toothless. However Hiccup's loyalties are put to the test as he becomes drawn into the world of werewolves, the ancient enemies of vampires. (Sequel to Midnight) (Twilight UA)
1. Chapter 1: Party

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Rise Of The Guardians, Tangled, Big Hero Six, Brave, How To Train Your Dragon or Twilight.**_

 _ **A/N - Hi everyone, no I'm not dead, sorry for not updating a single story in ages but I've been swapped with studying for my finals which are in six weeks time, but not to worry I'm back with the first chapter of Midnight: Blood Moon, my Frostcup version of Twilight New Moon, with obvious hints at Toothcup. Anyway hope you all stick around for the future chapters and enjoy.**_

 _ **Hiccup's P.O.V:**_

I was ninety-nine point nine percent sure I was dreaming.

The reasons I was so certain were that, first, I was standing in a bright shaft of sunlight the kind of blinding clear sun that never shone on my drizzly new hometown in Burgess, Washington and second, I was looking at my Grandfather Mildew. Grandad had been dead for six years now, so that was solid evidence toward the dream theory.

Grandad hadn't changed much; his face looked just the same as I remembered it. The skin was soft and withered, bent into a thousand tiny creases that clung gently to the bone underneath. Like a dried apricot, but with a puff of thick white hair standing out in a cloud around it.

Our mouths a wizened picker spread into the same surprised half-smile at just the same time. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting to see me, either. I was about to ask him a question; I had so many What was he doing here in my cream? What had he been up to in the past six years? Was Gran okay, and had they found each other, wherever they were? but he opened his mouth when I did, so I stopped to let him go first. He paused, too, and then we both smiled at the little awkwardness.

"Hiccup!"

It wasn't Grandad who called my name, and we both turned to see the addition to our small reunion. I didn't have to look to know who it was; this was a voice I would know anywhere now, and respond to, whether I was awake or asleep or even dead, I'd bet. The voice I'd walk through fire for or, less dramatically, slosh every day through the cold and endless rain for.

Jack.

Even though I was always thrilled to see him conscious or otherwise and even though I was almost positive that I was dreaming, I panicked as Jack walked toward us through the glaring sunlight.

I panicked because Grandad didn't know that I was in love with a vampire nobody knew that so how was I supposed to explain the fact that the brilliant sunbeams were shattering off his skin into a thousand rainbow shards like he was made of crystal or diamond?

Well, Grandad you might have noticed that my boyfriend glitters. It's just something he does in the sun. Don't worry about it.

What was he doing? The whole reason he lived in Burgess, the rainiest place in the world, was so that he could be outside in the daytime without exposing his family's secret. Yet here he was, strolling gracefully toward me with the most beautiful smile on his angel's face as if I were the only one here.

In that second, I wished that I was not the one exception to his mysterious talent; I usually felt grateful that I was the only person whose thoughts he couldn't hear just as clearly as if they were spoken aloud. But now I wished he could hear me, too, so that he could hear the warning I was screaming in my head.

I shot a panicked glance back at Grandad and saw that it was too late. He was just turning to stare back at me, his eyes as alarmed as mine.

Jack still smiling so beautifully that my heart felt like it was going to swell up and burst through my chest put his arm around my shoulder and turned to face my grandfather.

Grandad's expression surprised me. Instead of looking horrified, he was staring at me sheepishly, as if waiting for a scolding. And he was standing in such a strange position one arm held awkwardly away from his body, stretched out and then curled around the air. Like he had his arm around someone I couldn't see, someone invisible.

Only then, as I looked at the bigger picture, did I notice the huge gilt frame that enclosed my grandfather's form. Uncomprehending, I raised the hand that wasn't wrapped around Jack's waist and reached out to touch him. He mimicked the movement exactly, mirrored it. But where our fingers should have met, there was nothing but cold glass... with a dizzying jolt, my dream abruptly became a nightmare.

There was no Grandad.

That was me. Me in a mirror. Me—ancient, creased, and withered.

Jack stood beside me, casting no reflection, excruciatingly lovely and forever seventeen.

He pressed his icy, perfect lips against my wasted cheek.

"Happy birthday," he whispered.

I woke with a start—my eyelids popping open wide—and gasped. Dull grey light, the familiar light of an overcast morning, took the place of the blinding sun in my dream.

Just a dream, I told myself. It was only a dream. I took a deep breath and then jumped again when my alarm went off. The little calendar in the corner of the clock's display informed me that today was September thirteenth.

Only a dream, but prophetic enough in one way, at least. Today was my birthday. I was officially eighteen years old.

I'd been dreading this day for months.

All through the perfect summer—the happiest summer I had ever had, the happiest summer anyone anywhere had ever had, and the rainiest summer in the history of the Olympic Peninsula—this bleak date had lurked in ambush, waiting to spring.

And now that it had hit, it was even worse than I'd feared it would be. I could feel it—I was older. Every day I got older, but this was different, worse, quantifiable. I was eighteen.

And Jack never would be.

When I went to brush my teeth, I was almost surprised that the face in the mirror hadn't changed. I stared at myself, looking for some sign of impending wrinkles in my ivory skin. The only creases were the ones on my forehead, though, and I knew that if I could manage to relax, they would disappear. I couldn't. My eyebrows stayed lodged in a worried line over my anxious green eyes.

It was just a dream, I reminded myself again. Just a dream… but also my worst nightmare.

I skipped breakfast, in a hurry to get out of the house as quickly as possible. I wasn't entirely able to avoid my dad, and so I had to spend a few minutes acting cheerful. I honestly tried to be excited about the gifts I'd asked him not to get me, but every time I had to smile, it felt like I might start crying.

I struggled to get a grip on myself as I drove to school. The vision of Grandad —I would not think of it as a sign—but it was hard to get out of my head. I couldn't feel anything but despair until I pulled into the familiar parking lot behind Burgess High School and spotted Jack leaning motionlessly against his polished silver Volvo, like a marble tribute to some forgotten pagan god of beauty. The dream had not done him justice.

And he was waiting there for me, just the same as every other day.

Despair momentarily vanished; wonder took its place. Even after half a year with him, I still couldn't believe that I deserved this degree of good fortune.

His sister Emma was standing by his side, waiting for me, too.

The sight of Emma waiting there—her tawny eyes brilliant with excitement, and a small silver-wrapped square in her hands—made me frown. I'd told Emma I didn't want anything, anything, not gifts or even attention, for my birthday. Obviously, my wishes were being ignored.

I slammed the door of my '53 Chevy truck—a shower of rust specks fluttered down to the wet blacktop—and walked slowly toward where they waited. Emma skipped forward to meet me, her pixie face glowing under her brunette hair which always fell to her shoulders.

"Happy birthday, Hiccup!" "Shh!" I hissed, glancing around the lot to make sure no one had heard her. The last thing I wanted was some kind of celebration of the black event.

She ignored me. "Do you want to open your present now or later?" she asked eagerly as we made our way to where Jack still waited.

"No presents," I protested in a mumble.

She finally seemed to process my mood. "Okay… later, then. Did you like the scrapbook your mom sent you? And the camera from Stoick?" I sighed. Of course, she would know what my birthday presents were. Jack wasn't the only member of his family with unusual skills. Emma would have "seen" what my parents were planning as soon as they decided that themselves.

"Yeah. They're great." "I think it's a nice idea. You're only a senior once. Might as well document the experience." "How many times have you been a senior?" "That's different."

We reached Jack then, and he held out his hand for mine. I took it eagerly, forgetting, for a moment, my glum mood. His skin was, as always, smooth, hard, and very cold. He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. I looked into his liquid blue eyes, and my heart gave a not-quite-so-gentle squeeze of its own.

Hearing the stutter in my heartbeats, he smiled again.

He lifted his free hand and traced one cool fingertip around the outside of my lips as he spoke. "So, as discussed, I am not allowed to wish you a happy birthday, is that correct?" "Yes. That is correct." I could never quite mimic the flow of his perfect, formal articulation. It was something that could only be picked up in an earlier century.

"Just checking." He ran his hand through his unnatural white hair. "You might have changed your mind. Most people seem to enjoy things like birthdays and gifts." Emma laughed, and the sound was all silver, a wind chime. "Of course you'll enjoy it. Everyone is supposed to be nice to you today and give you your way, Hiccup. What's the worst that could happen?" She meant it as a rhetorical question.

"Getting older," I answered anyway, and my voice was not as steady as I wanted it to be.

Beside me, Jack's smile tightened into a hard line.

"Eighteen isn't very old," Emma said. "Most people usually wait till they're twenty-nine to get upset over birthdays?" "It's older than Jack," I mumbled.

He sighed.

"Technically," she said, keeping her tone light. "Just by one little year, though." And I supposed… if I could be sure of the future I wanted, sure that I would get to spend forever with Jack, and Emma and the rest of the Frosts… then a year or two one direction or the other wouldn't matter to me so much. But Jack was dead set against any future that changed me. Any future that made me like him—that made me immortal, too.

An impasse, he called it.

I couldn't really see Jack's point, to be honest. What was so great about mortality? Being a vampire didn't look like such a terrible thing—not the way the Frosts did it, anyway.

"What time will you be at the house?" Emma continued, changing the subject. From her expression, she was up to exactly the kind of thing I'd been hoping to avoid.

"I didn't know I had plans to be there."Oh, be fair, Hiccup!" she complained. "You aren't going to ruin all our fun like that, are you?"I thought my birthday was about what I want."I'll get him from Stoick's right after school," Jack told her, ignoring me altogether.

"I have to work," I protested.

"You don't, actually," Emma told me smugly. "I already spoke to Mrs. Hamada about it. She's trading your shifts. She said to tell you 'Happy Birthday.'" "I—I still can't come over," I stammered, scrambling for an excuse. "I, well, I haven't watched Romeo and Juliet yet for English." Emma snorted. "You have Romeo and Juliet memorised." "But Mr. Berty said we needed to see it performed to fully appreciate it—that's how Shakespeare intended it to be presented." Jack rolled his eyes.

"You've already seen the movie," Emma accused.

"But not the nineteen-sixties version. Mr. Berty said it was the best." Finally, Emma lost the smug smile and glared at me. "This can be easy, or this can be hard Hiccup, but one way or the other—" Jack interrupted her threat. "Relax, Emma. If Hiccup wants to watch a movie, then he can. It's his birthday." "So there," I added.

"I'll bring him over around seven," he continued. "That will give you more time to set up." Emma's laughter chimed again. "Sounds good. See you tonight, Hiccup! It'll be fun, you'll see." She grinned—the wide smile exposed all her perfect, glistening teeth—then pecked me on the cheek and danced off toward her first class before I could respond.

"Jack, please—" I started to beg, but he pressed one cool finger to my lips.

"Let's discuss it later. We're going to be late for class." No one bothered to stare at us as we took our usual seats in the back of the classroom. Jack and I had been together too long now to be an object of gossip anymore. Even Kristoff didn't bother to give me the glum stare that used to make me feel a little guilty. He smiled now instead, and I was glad he seemed to have accepted that we could only be friends. Kristoff had changed over the summer—his face had lost some of the roundness, making his cheekbones more prominent, and he was wearing his pale blond hair a new way; instead of bristly, it was longer and gelled into a carefully casual disarray. It was easy to see where his inspiration came from—but Jack's look wasn't something that could be achieved through imitation.

As the day progressed, I considered ways to get out of whatever was going down at the Frost house tonight. It would be bad enough to have to celebrate when I was in the mood to mourn. But, worse than that, this was sure to involve attention and gifts.

Attention is never a good thing, as any other accident-prone klutz would agree. No one wants a spotlight when they're likely to fall on their face.

And I'd very pointedly asked—well, ordered really—that no one give me any presents this year. It looked like Stoick and Valka weren't the only ones who had decided to overlook that.

I'd never had much money, and that had never bothered me. Valka had raised me on a kindergarten teacher's salary. Stoick wasn't getting rich at his job, either—he was the police chief here in the tiny town of Burgess. My only personal income came from the three days a week I worked at the local cafe. In a town this small, I was lucky to have a job. Every penny I made went into my microscopic college fund. (College was Plan B. I was still hoping for Plan A, but Jack was just so stubborn about leaving me human…) Jack had a lot of money—I didn't even want to think about how much. Money meant next to nothing to Jack or the rest of the Frosts. It was just something that accumulated when you had unlimited time on your hands and a sister who had an uncanny ability to predict trends in the stock market. Jack didn't seem to understand why I objected to him spending money on me—why it made me uncomfortable if he took me to an expensive restaurant in Seattle, why he wasn't allowed to buy me a car that could reach speeds over fifty-five miles an hour, or why I wouldn't let him pay my college tuition (he was ridiculously enthusiastic about Plan B). Jack thought I was being unnecessarily difficult.

But how could I let him give me things when I had nothing to reciprocate with? He, for some unfathomable reason, wanted to be with me. Anything he gave me on top of that just threw us more out of balance.

As the day went on, neither Jack nor Emma brought my birthday up again, and I began to relax a little.

We sat at our usual table for lunch.

A strange kind of truce existed at that table. The three of us—Jack, Emma, and I—sat on the extreme southern end of the table. Now that the "older" and somewhat scarier Frost siblings had graduated, Emma and Jack did not seem quite so intimidating, and we did not sit here alone. My other friends, Kristoff and Honey (who were in the awkward post-breakup friendship phase),Elinor and Tadashi (whose relationship had survived the summer), Wasabi, and Gogo (though that last one didn't really count in the friend category) all sat at the same table, on the other side of an invisible line. That line dissolved on sunny days when Jack and Emma always skipped school and then the conversation would swell out effortlessly to include me.

Jack and Emma didn't find this minor ostracism odd or hurtful the way I would have. They barely noticed it. People always felt strangely ill at ease with the Frosts, almost afraid for some reason they couldn't explain to themselves. I was a rare exception to that rule. Sometimes it bothered Jack how very comfortable I was with being close to him. He thought he was hazardous to my health—an opinion I rejected vehemently whenever he voiced it.

The afternoon passed quickly. School ended, and Jack walked me to my truck as he usually did. But this time, he held the passenger door open for me. Emma must have been taking his car home so that he could keep me from making a run for it.

I folded my arms and made no move to get out of the rain. "It's my birthday, don't I get to drive?"I'm pretending it's not your birthday, just as you wished."If it's not my birthday, then I don't have to go to your house tonight…"All right." He shut the passenger door and walked past me to open the driver's side. "Happy birthday."Shh," I shushed him halfheartedly. I climbed through the opened door, wishing he'd taken the other offer.

Jack played with the radio while I drove, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Your radio has horrible reception." I frowned. I didn't like it when he picked on my truck. The truck was great—it had personality.

"You want a nice stereo? Drive your own car." I was so nervous about Emma's plans, on top of my already gloomy mood, that the words came out sharper than I'd meant them. I was hardly ever bad-tempered with Jack, and my tone made him press his lips together to keep from smiling.

When I parked in front of Stoick's house, he reached over to take my face in his hands. He handled me very carefully, pressing just the tips of his fingers softly against my temples, my cheekbones, my jaw line.

Like I was especially breakable. Which was exactly the case—compared with him, at least.

"You should be in a good mood, today of all days," he whispered. His sweet breath fanned across my face.

"And if I don't want to be in a good mood?" I asked, my breathing uneven.

His Ocean eyes smouldered. "Too bad." My head was already spinning by the time he leaned closer and pressed his icy lips against mine. As he intended, no doubt, I forgot all about my worries and concentrated on remembering how to inhale and exhale.

His mouth lingered on mine, cold and smooth and gentle until I wrapped my arms around his neck and threw myself into the kiss with a little too much enthusiasm. I could feel his lips curve upward as he let go of my face and reached back to unlock my grip on him.

Jack had drawn many careful lines for our physical relationship, with the intent being to keep me alive.

Though I respected the need for maintaining a safe distance between my skin and his razor-sharp,venom-coated teeth, I tended to forget about trivial things like that when he was kissing me.

"Be good, please," he breathed against my cheek. He pressed his lips gently to mine one more time and then pulled away, folding my arms across my stomach.

My pulse was thudding in my ears. I put one hand over my heart. It drummed hyper actively under my palm.

"Do you think I'll ever get better at this?" I wondered, mostly to myself. "That my heart might someday stop trying to jump out of my chest whenever you touch me?" "I really hope not," he said, a bit smug.

I rolled my eyes. "Let's go watch the Capulets and Montagues hack each other up, all right?" "Your wish, my command." Jack sprawled across the couch while I started the movie, fast-forwarding through the opening credits.

When I perched on the edge of the sofa in front of him, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against his chest. It wasn't exactly as comfortable as a sofa cushion would be, what with his chest being hard and cold—and perfect—as an ice sculpture, but it was definitely preferable. He pulled the old afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over me so I wouldn't freeze beside his body.

"You know, I've never had much patience with Romeo," he commented as the movie started.

"What's wrong with Romeo?" I asked, a little offended. Romeo was one of my favourite fictional characters. Until I'd met Jack, I'd sort of had a thing for him.

"Well, first of all, he's in love with this Rosaline—don't you think it makes him seem a little fickle? And then, a few minutes after their wedding, he kills Juliet's cousin. That's not very brilliant. Mistake after mistake. Could he have destroyed his own happiness any more thoroughly?" I sighed. "Do you want me to watch this alone?" "No, I'll mostly be watching you, anyway." His fingers traced patterns across the skin of my arm, raising goose bumps. "Will you cry?" "Probably," I admitted, "if I'm paying attention." "I won't distract you then." But I felt his lips on my hair, and it was very distracting.

The movie eventually captured my interest, thanks in large part to Jack whispering Romeo's lines in my ear—his irresistible, velvet voice made the actor's voice sound weak and coarse by comparison. And I did cry, to his amusement, when Juliet woke and found her new husband dead.

"I'll admit, I do sort of envy him here," Jack said, drying my tears with his hand.

"She's very pretty." He made a disgusted sound. "I don't envy him the girl—just the ease of the suicide," he clarified in a teasing tone. "You humans have it so easy! All you have to do is throw down one tiny vial of plant extracts…"What?" I gasped.

"It's something I had to think about once, and I knew from North's experience that it wouldn't be simple. I'm not even sure how many ways North tried to kill himself in the beginning… after he realised what he'd become…" His voice, which had grown serious, turned light again. "And he's clearly still in excellent health."I twisted around so that I could read his face. "What are you talking about?" I demanded. "What do you mean, this something you had to think about once?" "Last spring, when you were… nearly killed…" He paused to take a deep breath, snuggling to return to his teasing tone. "Of course I was trying to focus on finding you alive, but part of my mind was making contingency plans. Like I said, it's not as easy for me as it is for a human."

For one second, the memory of my last trip to Berk washed through my head and made me feel dizzy.

I could see it all so clearly—the blinding sun, the heat waves coming off the concrete as I ran with desperate haste to find the sadistic vampire who wanted to torture me to death. Dagur, waiting in the Judo Studio with my mother as his hostage—or so I'd thought. I hadn't known it was all a ruse. Just as Dagur hadn't known that Jack was racing to save me; Jack made it in time, but it had been a close one. Unthinkingly, my fingers traced the crescent-shaped scar on my hand that was always just a few degrees cooler than the rest of my skin.

I shook my head—as if I could shake away the bad memories—and tried to grasp what Jack meant.

My stomach plunged uncomfortably. "Contingency plans?" I repeated.

"Well, I wasn't going to live without you." He rolled his eyes as if that fact were childishly obvious. "But I wasn't sure how to do it—I knew Snoutlout and Bunnymund would never help… so I was thinking maybe I would go to Italy and do something to provoke the Volturi."

I didn't want to believe he was serious, but his ocean eyes were brooding, focused on something far away in the distance as he contemplated ways to end his own life. Abruptly, I was furious.

"What is a Volturi?" I demanded.

"The Volturi are a family," he explained, his eyes still remote. "A very old, very powerful family of our kind. They are the closest thing our world has to a royal family, I suppose. North lived with them briefly in his early years, in Italy, before he settled in America—do you remember the story?" "Of course I remember." I would never forget the first time I'd gone to his home, the huge white mansion buried deep in the forest beside the river or the room where North—Jack's father in so many real ways—kept a wall of paintings that illustrated his personal history.

Though the painting was centuries old, North—the blood angel—remained unchanged.

"Anyway, you don't irritate the Volturi," Jack went on. "Not unless you want to die—or whatever it is we do." His voice was so calm, it made him sound almost bored by the prospect.

My anger turned to horror. I took his marble face between my hands and held it very tightly.

"You must never, never, never think of anything like that again!" I said. "No matter what might ever happen to me, you are not allowed to hurt yourself!"I'll never put you in danger again, so it's a moot point."Put me in danger! I thought we'd established that all the bad luck is my fault?" I was getting angrier.

"How dare you even think like that?" The idea of Jack ceasing to exist, even if I were dead, was impossibly painful.

"What would you do, if the situation were reversed?" he asked.

"That's not the same thing." He didn't seem to understand the difference. He chuckled.

"What if something did happen to you?" I blanched at the thought. "Would you want me to go off myself?" A trace of pain touched his perfect features.

"I guess I see your point… a little," he admitted. "But what would I do without you?"

"Whatever you were doing before I came along and complicated your existence." He sighed. "You make that sound so easy." "It should be. I'm not really that interesting." He was about to argue, but then he let it go. "Moot point," he reminded me. Abruptly, he pulled himself up into a more formal posture, shifting me to the side so that we were no longer touching.

"Stoick?" I guessed.

Jack smiled. After a moment, I heard the sound of the police cruiser pulling into the driveway. I reached out and took his hand firmly. My dad could deal with that much.

Stoick came in with a pizza box in his hands.

"Hey, kids." He grinned at me. "I thought you'd like a break from cooking and washing dishes for your birthday. Hungry?"Sure. Thanks, Dad." Stoick didn't comment on Jack's apparent lack of appetite. He was used to Jack passing on dinner.

"Do you mind if I borrow Hiccup for the evening?" Jack asked when Stoick and I were done.

I looked at Stoick hopefully. Maybe he had some concept of birthdays as stay-at-home, family affairs—this was my first birthday with him, the first birthday since my mom, Valka, had remarried and gone to live in Florida, so I didn't know what he would expect.

"That's fine—the Mariners are playing the Sox tonight," Stoick explained, and my hope disappeared.

"So I won't be any kind of company… Here." He scooped up the camera he'd gotten me on Valka's suggestion, and threw it to me.

He ought to know better than that—I'd always been co-ordinationally challenged. The camera glanced off the tip of my finger and tumbled toward the floor. Jack snagged it before it could crash onto the linoleum.

"Nice save," Stoick noted. "If they're doing something fun at the Frosts' tonight, Hiccup, you should take some pictures. You know how your mother gets—she'll be wanting to see the pictures faster than you can take them."Good idea, Stoick," Jack said, handing me the camera.

I turned the camera on Jack and snapped the first picture. "It works." "That's good. Hey, say hi to Emma for me. She hasn't been over in a while." Stoick's mouth pulled down at one corner.

"It's been three days, Dad," I reminded him. Stoick was crazy about Emma. He'd become attached last spring when she'd helped me through my awkward convalescence; Stoick would be forever grateful to her for saving him from the horror of an almost-adult son who needed help showering. "I'll tell her." "Okay. You kids have fun tonight." It was clearly a dismissal. Stoick was already edging toward the living room and the TV.

Jack smiled, triumphant, and took my hand to pull me from the kitchen.

When we got to the truck, he opened the passenger door for me again, and this time, I didn't argue. I still had a hard time finding the obscure turnoff to his house in the dark.

Jack drove north through Burgess, visibly chafing at the speed limit enforced by my prehistoric Chevy.

The engine groaned even louder than usual as he pushed it over fifty.

"Take it easy," I warned him.

"You know what you would love? A nice little Audi coupe. Very quiet, lots of power…"There's nothing wrong with my truck. And speaking of expensive nonessentials, if you know what's good for you, you didn't spend any money on birthday presents."Not a dime," he said virtuously.

"Good." "Can you do me a favour?" "That depends on what it is."

He sighed, his lovely face serious. "Hiccup, the last real birthday any of us had was Snoutlout's in 1935. Cut us a little slack, and don't be too difficult tonight. They're all very excited." It always startled me a little when he brought up things like that. "Fine, I'll behave." "I probably should warn you…" "Please do." "When I say they're all excited… I do mean all of them."

"Everyone?" I choked. "I thought Snoutlout and Rapunzel were in Africa." The rest of Burgess was under the impression that the older Frosts had gone off to college this year, to Dartmouth, but I knew better.

"Snoutlout wanted to be here." "But… Rapunzel?" "I know, Hiccup. Don't worry, she'll be on her best behaviour." I didn't answer.

Like I could just not worry, that easy. Unlike Emma, Jack's other sister, the golden blond and exquisite Rapunzel, didn't like me much. Actually, the feeling was a little bit stronger than just dislike. As far as Rapunzel was concerned, I was an unwelcome intruder into her family's secret life.

I felt horribly guilty about the present situation, guessing that Rapunzel and Snoutlout's prolonged absence was my fault, even as I furtively enjoyed not having to see her, Snoutlout, Jack's playful bear of a brother, I did miss. He was in many ways just like the big brother I'd always wanted… only much, much more terrifying.

Jack decided to change the subject. "So, if you won't let me get you the Audi, isn't there anything that you'd like for your birthday?" The words came out in a whisper. "You know what I want."

A deep frown carved creases into his marble forehead. He obviously wished he'd stuck to the subject of Rapunzel.

It felt like we'd had this argument a lot today.

"Not tonight, Hiccup. Please."Well, maybe Emma will give me what I want." Jack growled—a deep, menacing sound. "This isn't going to be your last birthday, Hiccup," he vowed.

"That's not fair!" I thought I heard his teeth clench together.

We were pulling up to the house now. A bright light shined from every window on the first two floors. A long line of glowing Japanese lanterns hung from the porch eaves, reflecting a soft radiance on the huge cedars that surrounded the house. Big bowls of flowers—pink roses—lined the wide stairs up to the front doors.

I moaned.

Jack took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "This is a party," he reminded me. "Try to be a good sport." "Sure," I muttered.

He came around to get my door and offered me his hand.

"I have a question." He waited warily.

"If I develop this film," I said, toying with the camera in my hands, "will you show up in the picture?" Jack started laughing. He helped me out of the car, pulled me up the stairs, and was still laughing as he opened the door for me.

They were all waiting in the huge white living room; when I walked through the door, they greeted me with a loud chorus of "Happy birthday, Hiccup!" while I blushed and looked down at my prosthetic leg, I had finally gotten walking down, but running seemed somewhat impossible now. Emma, I assumed, had covered every flat surface with pink candles and dozens of crystal bowls filled with hundreds of roses. There was a table with a white cloth draped over it next to Jack's grand piano, holding a chocolate birthday cake, more roses, a stack of glass plates, and a small pile of silver-wrapped presents.

It was a hundred times worse than I'd imagined.

Jack, sensing my distress, wrapped an encouraging arm around my waist and kissed the top of my head.

Jack's parents, North and Tooth—impossibly youthful and lovely as ever—were the closest to the door. Tooth hugged me carefully, her soft, multi-coloured hair brushing against my cheek as she kissed my forehead, and then North put his arm around my shoulders.

"Sorry about this, Hiccup," he stage-whispered. "We couldn't rein Emma in."

Rapunzel and Snoutlout stood behind them. Rapunzel didn't smile, but at least she didn't glare. Snoutlout's face was stretched into a huge grin. It had been months since I'd seen them; I'd forgotten how gloriously beautiful Rapunzel was—it almost hurt to look at her. And had Snoutlout always been so… big?

"You haven't changed at all," Snoutlout said with mock disappointment. "I expected a perceptible difference, but here you are, red-faced just like always."Thanks a lot, Snoutlout," I said, blushing deeper.

He laughed, "I have to step out for a second"—he paused to wink conspicuously at Emma—"Don't do anything funny while I'm gone."

"I 'll try."

Emma let go of Bunnymund's hand and skipped forward, all her teeth sparkling in the bright light. Bunnymund smiled, too, but kept his distance. He leant, against the post at the foot of the stairs. During the days we'd had to spend cooped up together in Berk, I'd thought he'd gotten over his aversion to me. But he'd gone back to exactly how he'd acted before—avoiding me as much as possible—the moment he was free from that temporary obligation to protect me. I knew it wasn't personal, just a precaution, and I tried not to be overly sensitive about it. Bunnymund had more trouble sticking to the Frosts' diet than the rest of them; the scent of human blood was much harder for him to resist than the others—he hadn't been trying as long.

"Time to open presents," Emma declared. She put her cool hand under my elbow and towed me to the table with the cake and the shiny packages.

I put on my best martyr face. "Emma, I know I told you I didn't want anything—"But I didn't listen," she interrupted, smug. "Open it." She took the camera from my hands and replaced it with a big, square silver box.

The box was so light that it felt empty. The tag on top said that it was from Snoutlout, Rapunzel, and Bunnymund.

Self-consciously, I tore the paper off and then stared at the box it concealed.

It was something electrical, with lots of numbers in the name. I opened the box, hoping for further illumination. But the box was empty.

"Um… thanks." Rapunzel actually cracked a smile. Bunnymund laughed. "It's a stereo for your truck," he explained. "Snoutlout's installing it right now so that you can't return it."

Emma was always one step ahead of me. "Thanks, Bunnymund, Rapunzel," I told them, grinning as I remembered Jack's complaints about my radio this afternoon—all a setup, apparently.

"Thanks, Snoutlout!" I called more loudly.

I heard his booming laugh from my truck, and I couldn't help laughing, too.

"Open mine and Jack's next," Emma said, so excited her voice was a high-pitched trill. She held a small, flat square in her hand.

I turned to give Jack a basilisk glare. "You promised." Before he could answer, Snoutlout bounded through the door. "Just in time!" he crowed. He pushed in behind Bunnymund, who had also drifted closer than usual to get a good look.

"I didn't spend a dime," Jack assured me. He ruffled my hair, leaving me tingling from his touch.

I inhaled deeply and turned to Emma. "Give it to me," I sighed.

Snoutlout chuckled with delight.

I took the little package, rolling my eyes at Jack while I stuck my finger under the edge of the paper and jerked it under the tape.

"Shoot," I muttered when the paper sliced my finger; I pulled it out to examine the damage. A single drop of blood oozed from the tiny cut.

It all happened very quickly then.

"No!" Jack roared.

He threw himself at me, flinging me back across the table. It fell, as I did, scattering the cake and the presents, the flowers and the plates. I landed in the mess of shattered crystal.

Bunnymund slammed into Jack, and the sound was like the crash of boulders in a rock slide.

There was another noise, a grisly snarling that seemed to be coming from deep in Bunnymund's chest. Bunnymund tried to shove past Jack, snapping his teeth just inches from Jack's face.

Snoutlout grabbed Bunnymund from behind in the next second, locking him into his massive steel grip, but Bunnymund struggled on, his wild, empty eyes focused only on me.

Beyond the shock, there was also the pain. I'd tumbled down to the floor by the piano, with my arms thrown out instinctively to catch my fall, into the jagged shards of glass. Only now did I feel the searing, stinging pain that ran from my wrist to the crease inside my elbow.

Dazed and disoriented, I looked up from the bright red blood pulsing out of my arm—into the fevered eyes of the six suddenly ravenous vampires.

 _ **A/N - Hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of this new story, I promise I'll try and update as soon as possible. Anyways how you all enjoyed and have a nice day.**_


	2. Chapter 2: Stitches

_**Author's Note - Hi everyone, I'm back with the second chapter of Blood Moon. Hope you are all enjoying the story so far and I'm so grateful for everyone being so patient with me, school's starting again this Monday and I'm literally studying until I black out and fall asleep, not good I know but oh well. Anyways Enjoy.**_

 _ **Hiccup's P.O.V:**_

North was the only one who stayed calm. Centuries of experience in the emergency room were evident in his quiet, authoritative voice.

"Snotlout, Rapunzel, get Bunnymund outside." Unsmiling for once, Snotlout nodded. "Come on, Bunnymund." Bunnymund struggled against Snotlout's unbreakable grasp, twisting around, reaching toward his brother with his bared teeth, his eyes still past reason.

Jack's face was whiter than bone as he wheeled to crouch over me, taking a clearly defensive position. A low warning growl slid from between his clenched teeth. I could tell that he wasn't breathing.

Rapunzel, her pine face strangely smug, stepped in front of Bunnymund—keeping a careful distance from his teeth—and helped Snotlout wrestle him through the glass door that Tooth held open, one hand pressed over her mouth and nose.

Tooth's heart-shaped face was ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Hiccup," she cried as she followed the others into the yard.

"Let me by, Jack," North murmured.

A second passed, and then Jack nodded slowly and relaxed his stance.

North knelt beside me, leaning close to examine my arm. I could feel the shock frozen on my face, and I tried to compose it.

"Here, North," Emma said, handing him a towel.

He shook his head. "Too much glass in the wound." He reached over and ripped a long, thin scrap from the bottom of the white tablecloth. He twisted it around my arm above the elbow to form a tourniquet.

The smell of the blood was making me dizzy. My ears rang.

"Hiccup," North said softly. "Do you want me to drive you to the hospital, or would you like me to take care of it here?"

"Here, please," I whispered. If he took me to the hospital, there would be no way to keep this from Stoick.

"I'll get your bag," Emma said.

"Let's take him to the kitchen table," North said to Jack.

Jack lifted me effortlessly, while North kept the pressure steady on my arm.

"How are you doing, Hiccup?" North asked.

"I'm fine." My voice was reasonably steady, which pleased me.

Jack's face was like stone.

Emma was there. North's black bag was already on the table, a small but brilliant desk light plugged into the wall. Jack sat me gently into a chair, and North pulled up another. He went to work at once.

Jack stood over me, still protective, still not breathing.

"Just go, Jack," I sighed.

"I can handle it," he insisted. But his jaw was rigid; his eyes burned with the intensity of the thirst he fought, so much worse for him than it was for the others.

"You don't need to be a hero," I said. "North can fix me up without your help. Get some fresh air."I winced as North did something to my arm that stung.

"I'll stay," he said.

"Why are you so masochistic?" I mumbled.

North decided to intercede. "Jack, you may as well go find Bunnymund before he gets too far. I'm sure he's upset with himself, and I doubt he'll listen to anyone but you right now."Yes," I eagerly agreed. "

"Go find Bunnymund." "You might as well do something useful," Emma added.

Jack's eyes narrowed as we ganged up on him, but, finally, he nodded once and sprinted smoothly through the kitchen's back door. I was sure he hadn't taken a breath since I'd sliced my finger.

A numb, dead feeling was spreading through my arm.

Though it erased the sting, it reminded me of the gash, and I watched North's face carefully to distract me from what his hands were doing. His hair gleamed gold in the bright light as he bent over my arm. I could feel the faint stirrings of unease in the pit of my stomach, but I was determined not to let my usual squeamishness get the best of me. There was no pain now, just a gentle tugging sensation that I tried to ignore. No reason to get sick like a baby.

If she hadn't been in my line of sight, I wouldn't have noticed Emma give up and steal out of the room.

With a tiny, apologetic smile on her lips, she disappeared through the kitchen doorway.

"Well, that's everyone," I sighed. "I can clear a room, at least."It's not your fault," North comforted me with a chuckle. "It could happen to anyone."

"Could" I repeated. "But it usually just happens to me." He laughed again.

His relaxed calm was only more amazing set in direct contrast with everyone else's reaction. I couldn't find any trace of anxiety in his face. He worked with quick, sure movements. The only sound besides our quiet breathing was the soft plink, plink as the tiny fragments of glass dropped one by one to the table.

"How can you do this?" I demanded. "Even Emma and Tooth…" I trailed off, shaking my head in wonder.

Though the rest of them had given up the traditional diet of vampires just as absolutely as North had, he was the only one who could bear the smell of my blood without suffering from the intense temptation.

Clearly, this was much more difficult than he made it seem.

"Years and years of practice," he told me. "I barely notice the scent anymore."

"Do you think it would be harder if you took a vacation from the hospital for a long time? And weren't around any blood?"

"Maybe." He shrugged his shoulders, but his hands remained steady. "I've never felt the need for an extended holiday." He flashed a brilliant smile in my direction. "I enjoy my work too much."

Plink, plink, plink. I was surprised at how much glass there seemed to be in my arm. I was tempted to glance at the growing pile, just to check the size, but I knew that idea would not be helpful to my no-vomiting strategy.

"What is it that you enjoy?" I wondered. It didn't make sense to me—the years of struggle and self-denial he must have spent to get to the point where he could endure this so easily. Besides, I wanted to keep him talking; the conversation kept my mind off the queasy feeling in my stomach.

His dark eyes were calm and thoughtful as he answered. "Hmm. What I enjoy the very most is when my… enhanced abilities let me save someone who would otherwise have been lost. It's pleasant knowing that, thanks to what I can do, some people's lives are better because I exist. Even the sense of smell is a useful diagnostic tool at times." One side of his mouth pulled up in half a smile.

I mulled that over while he poked around, making sure all the glass splinters were gone. Then he rummaged in his bag for new tools, and I tried not to picture a needle and thread.

"You try very hard to make up for something that was never your fault," I suggested while a new kind of tugging started at the edges of my skin. "What I mean is, it's not like you asked for this. You didn't choose this kind of life, and yet you have to work so hard to be good."

"I don't know that I'm making up for anything," he disagreed lightly. "Like everything in life, I just had to decide what to do with what I was given."

"That makes it sound too easy."He examined my arm again. "There," he said, snipping a thread. "All done." He wiped an oversized Q-tip, dripping with some syrup-colored liquid, thoroughly across the operation site. The smell was strange; it made my head spin. The syrup stained my skin.

"In the beginning, though," I pressed while he taped another long piece of gauze securely in place, sealing it to my skin. "Why did you even think to try a different way than the obvious one?" His lips turned up in a private smile. "Hasn't Jack told you this story?"Yes. But I'm trying to understand what you were thinking…"

North put all the dirty gauze and the glass slivers into an empty crystal bowl. I didn't understand what he was doing, even when he lit the match. Then he threw it onto the alcohol-soaked fibers, and the sudden blaze made me jump.

"Sorry," he apologized. "That ought to do it"

North guessed the direction of my thoughts. "Jack's with me up to a point. God and heaven exist… and so does hell. But he doesn't believe there is an afterlife for our kind." North's voice was very soft; he stared out the big window over the sink, into the darkness. "You see, he thinks we've lost our souls." I immediately thought of Jack's words this afternoon: unless you want to die—or whatever it is that we do. The light bulb flicked on over my head.

"That's the real problem, isn't it?" I guessed. "That's why he's being so difficult to me."

North spoke slowly. "I look at my… son. His strength, his goodness, the brightness that shines out of him—and it only fuels that hope, that faith, more than ever. How could there not be more for one such as Jack?" I nodded in fervent agreement.

"But if I believed as he does…" He looked down at me with unfathomable eyes. "If you believed as he did. Could you take away his soul?" The way he phrased the question thwarted my answer.

If he'd asked me whether I would risk my soul for Jack, the reply would be obvious. But would I risk Jack's soul? I pursed my lips unhappily. That wasn't a fair exchange.

"You see the problem."

I shook my head, aware of the stubborn set of my chin.

North sighed.

"It's my choice," I insisted.

"It's his, too." He held up his hand when he could see that I was about to argue. "Whether he is responsible for doing that to you."He's not the only one able to do it." I eyed North speculatively.

He laughed, abruptly lightening the mood. "Oh, no! You're going to have to work this out with him."But then he sighed. "That's the one part I can never be sure of. I think, in most other ways, that I've done the best I could with what I had to work with. But was it right to doom the others to this life? I can't decide."I didn't answer. I imagined what my life would be like if North had resisted the temptation to change his lonely existence… and shuddered.

"It was Jack's sacrifice that made up my mind." North's voice was almost a whisper. He stared unseeingly out the black windows.

"His sacrifice?" Whenever I'd asked Jack about how he became a vampire, he would merely say his memories were vague. I realized North's memory of the incident, would be perfectly clear.

"Yes. It was a cold winter day many, many years ago. I was walking alone, after a day of work and I saw them" North explained.

"Them?" I asked.

"Jack and Emma. They were ice-skating on a frozen lake, I took a minute to examine them, a happy brother and sister pair, Jack's hair was a brunette colour and his eyes were hazel, Emma very much the same, Jack was about seventeen at the time and Emma was about eleven."

"His eyes were Hazel and his hair was brown?" I murmured, trying to picture it.

"Yes…" North's ocher eyes were a hundred years away now. "Suddenly I noticed the ice beneath Emma begin to crack but before I could act Jack did something I never expected a mortal to do, he saved his sister by pushing her off the ice with a stick, however, he wasn't so lucky and the ice collapsed underneath him and he plummeted into the icy water. Emma with tears in her eyes ran to the nearest village in search of help but I knew she would never make it in time to save her older brother. It was because of his noble sacrifice to save his sister that I decided to test out if I could create more of my kind, after I'd pulled him from the water he was quickly losing body heat and his pulse was close to stopping, it was then that I preceded to turn him into one of my kind and to my surprise his hair along with his eyes changed" North explained. "I'd spent decades considering the idea of creating a companion for myself. Just one other creature who could really know me, rather than what I pretended to be. But I could never justify it to myself—doing what had been done to me. I wasn't sorry, though. I've never been sorry that I saved Jack." He shook his head, coming back to the present.

He smiled at me. "I suppose I should take you home now.

"I'll do that," Jack said. He came through the shadowy dining room, walking slowly for him. His face was smooth, unreadable, but there was something wrong with his eyes—something he was trying very hard to hide. I felt a spasm of unease in my stomach.

"North can take me," I said. I looked down at my shirt; the light blue cotton was soaked and spotted with my blood. My right shoulder was covered in thick choclate frosting.

"I'm fine." Jack's voice was unemotional. "You'll need to change anyway. You'd give Stoick a heart attack the way you look. I'll have Emma get you something." He strode out the kitchen door again.

I looked at North anxiously. "He's very upset."

"Yes," North agreed. "Tonight is exactly the kind of thing that he fears the most. You being put in danger, because of what we are." "It's not his fault." "It's not yours, either."I looked away from his wise, beautiful eyes. I couldn't agree with that.

North offered me his hand and helped me up from the table. I followed him out into the main room. Tooth had come back; she was mopping the floor where I'd fallen—with straight bleach from the smell of it.

"Tooth, let me do that." I could feel that my face was bright red again.

"I'm already done." She smiled up at me. "How do you feel?" "I'm fine," I assured her. "North sews faster than any other doctor I've had."They both chuckled. Emma and Jack came in the back doors. Emma hurried to my side, but Jack hung back, his face indecipherable.

"C'mon," Emma said. "I'll get you something less macabre to wear."She found me a shirt of Snotlout's that was close to the same colour mine had been. Stoick wouldn't notice, I was sure. The long white bandage on my arm didn't look nearly as serious when I was no longer scattered in gore. Stoick was never surprised to see me bandaged.

"Emma," I whispered as she headed back to the door.

"Yes?" She kept her voice low, too and looked at me curiously, her head cocked to the side.

"How bad is it?" I couldn't be sure if my whispering was a wasted effort. Even though we were upstairs, with the door closed, perhaps he could hear me.

Her face tensed. "I'm not sure yet."How's Bunnymund?" She sighed. "He's very unhappy with himself. It's all so much more of a challenge for him, and he hates feeling weak."It's not his fault. You'll tell him that I'm not mad at him, not at all, won't you?"

"Of course." Jack was waiting for me by the front door. As I got to the bottom of the staircase, he held it open without a word.

"Take your things!" Emma cried as I walked warily toward Jack. She scooped up the two packages, one half-opened, and my camera from under the piano and pressed them into my good arm. "You can thank me later when you've opened them." Tooth and North both said a quiet goodnight. I could see them stealing quick glances at their impassive son, much like I was.

It was a relief to be outside; I hurried past the lanterns and the Roses, now unwelcome reminders. Jack kept pace with me silently. He opened the passenger side for me, and I climbed in without complaint. On the dashboard was a big red ribbon, stuck to the new stereo. I pulled it off, throwing it to the floor.

As Jack slid into the other side, I kicked the ribbon under my seat.

He didn't look at me or the stereo. Neither of us switched it on, and the silence was somehow intensified by the sudden thunder of the engine. He drove too fast down the dark, serpentine lane.

The silence was making me insane.

"Say something," I finally begged as he turned onto the freeway.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked in a detached voice.

I cringed at his remoteness. 'Tell me you forgive me."That brought a flicker of life to his face—a flicker of anger. "Forgive you? For what?"

"If I'd been more careful, nothing would have happened."

"Hiccup, you gave yourself a paper cut—that hardly deserves the death penalty."It's still my fault."My words opened up the floodgate.

"Your fault? If you'd cut yourself at Kristoff's house, with Honey there and Elinor and your other normal friends, the worst that could possibly have happened would be what? Maybe they couldn't find you a bandage? If you'd tripped and knocked over a pile of glass plates on your own—without someone throwing you into them—even then, what's the worst? You'd get blood on the seats when they drove you to the emergency room? Kristoff could have held your hand while they stitched you up—and he wouldn't be fighting the urge to kill you the whole time he was there. Don't try to take any of this on yourself, Hiccup. It will only make me more disgusted with myself."

"How the hell did Kristoff end up in this conversation?" I demanded.

"Kristoff ended up in this conversation because Kristoff would be a hell of a lot healthier for you to be with," he growled.

"I'd rather die than be with Kristoff," I protested. "I'd rather die than be with anyone but you." "Don't be melodramatic, please." "Well then, don't you be ridiculous."He didn't answer. He glared through the windshield, his expression black.

I racked my brain for some way to salvage the evening. When we pulled up in front of my house, I still hadn't come up with anything. He killed the engine, but his hands stayed clenched around the steering wheel.

"Will you stay tonight?" I asked.

"I should go home." The last thing I wanted was for him to go wallow in remorse.

"For my birthday," I pressed.

"You can't have it both ways—either you want people to ignore your birthday or you don't. One or the other."His voice was stern, but not as serious as before. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Okay. I've decided that I don't want you to ignore my birthday. I'll see you upstairs."

I hopped out, reaching back in for my packages. He frowned.

"You don't have to take those." "I want them," I responded automatically, and then wondered if he was using reverse psychology.

"No, you don't. North and Tooth spent money on you." "I'll live." I tucked the presents awkwardly under my good arm and slammed the door behind me. He was out of the truck and by my side in less than a second.

"Let me carry them, at least," he said as he took them away. "I'll be in your room." I smiled. "Thanks."

"Happy birthday," he sighed, and leaned down to touch his lips to mine.

I reached up on my toes to make the kiss last longer when he pulled away. He smiled my favorite crooked smile and then he disappeared into the darkness. The game was still on; as soon as I walked through the front door I could hear the announcer rambling over the babble of the crowd.

"Hiccup?" Stoick called.

"Hey, Dad," I said as I came around the corner. I held my arm close to my side. The slight pressure burned, and I wrinkled my nose. The anesthetic was apparently losing its effectiveness.

"How was it?" Stoick lounged across the sofa with his bare feet propped up on the arm. What was left of his curly brown hair was crushed flat on one side.

"Emma went overboard. Flowers, cake, candles, presents—the whole bit." "What did they get you?"A stereo for my truck." And various unknowns.

"Wow."Yeah," I agreed. "Well, I'm calling it a night."I'll see you in the morning."I waved.

"See ya." "What happened to your arm?"I flushed and cursed silently. "I tripped. It's nothing."Hiccup," he sighed, shaking his head.

"Goodnight, Dad."I hurried up to the bathroom, where I kept my pajamas for just such nights as these. I shrugged into the matching tank top and cotton pants that I'd gotten to replace the holey sweats I used to wear to bed,wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches. I washed my face one-handed, brushed my teeth, and then skipped to my room.

He was sitting in the center of my bed, toying idly with one of the silver boxes.

"Hi," he said. His voice was sad. He was wallowing.

I went to the bed, pushed the presents out of his hands, and climbed into his lap.

"Hi." I snuggled into his stone chest. "Can I open my presents now?" "Where did the enthusiasm come from?" he wondered.

"You made me curious."I picked up the long flat rectangle that must have been from North and Tooth.

"Allow me," he suggested. He took the gift from my hand and tore the silver paper off with one fluid movement. He handed the rectangular white box back to me.

"Are you sure I can handle lifting the lid?" I muttered but he ignored me.

Inside the box was a long thick piece of paper with an overwhelming amount of fine print. It took me a minute to get the gist of the information.

"We're going to Berk?" And I was excited, in spite of myself. It was a voucher for plane tickets, for both me and Jack.

"That's the idea."I can't believe it. Valka is going to flip! You don't mind, though, do you? It's sunny, you'll have to stay inside all day."I think I can handle it," he said, and then frowned. "If I'd had any idea that you could respond to a gift this appropriately, I would have made you open it in front of North and Tooth. I thought you 'd complain."Well, of course, it's too much. But I get to take you with me!" He chuckled. "Now I wish I'd spent money on your present. I didn't realize that you were capable of being reasonable." I set the tickets aside and reached for his present, my curiosity rekindled. He took it from me and unwrapped it like the first one.

He handed back a clear CD jewel case, with a blank silver CD inside.

"What is it?" I asked, perplexed.

He didn't say anything; he took the CD and reached around me to put it in the CD player on the bedside table. He hit play, and we waited in silence. Then the music began. I listened, speechless and wide-eyed. I knew he was waiting for my reaction, but I couldn't talk. Tears welled up, and I reached up to wipe them away before they could spill over.

"Does your arm hurt?" he asked anxiously.

"No, it's not my arm. It's beautiful, Jack. You couldn't have given me anything I would love more. I can't believe it." I shut up, so I could listen.

It was his music, his compositions. The first piece on the CD was my lullaby.

"I didn't think you would let me get a piano so I could play for you here," he explained.

"You're right."

"How does your arm feel?"Just fine." Actually, it was starting to blaze under the bandage. I wanted ice. I would have settled for his hand, but that would have given me away.

"I'll get you some Tylenol."

"I don't need anything," I protested, but he slid me off his lap and headed for the door.

"Stoick," I hissed. Stoick wasn't exactly aware that Jack frequently stayed over. In fact, he would have a stroke if that fact were brought to his attention. But I didn't feel too guilty for deceiving him It wasn't as if we were up to anything he wouldn't want me to be up to. Jack and his rules…"He won't catch me," Jack promised as he disappeared silently out the door and returned, catching the door before it had swung back to touch the frame. He had the glass from the bathroom and the bottle of pills in one hand.

I took the pills he handed me without arguing—I knew I would lose the argument and my arm really was starting to bother me.

My lullaby continued, soft and lovely, in the background.

"It's late," Jack noted. He scooped me up off the bed with one arm and pulled the cover back with the other. He put me down with my head on my pillow and tucked the quilt around me. He lay down next to me—on top of the blanket so I wouldn't get chilled—and put his arm over me.

I leaned my head against his shoulder and sighed happily.

"Thanks again," I whispered.

"You're welcome."It was quiet for a long moment as I listened to my lullaby drift to a close. Another song began. I recognized Tooth's favorite.

"What are you thinking about?'" I wondered in a whisper.

He hesitated for a second before he told me. "I was thinking about right and wrong, actually."I felt a chill tingle along my spine. "Remember how I decided that I wanted you to not ignore my birthday?" I asked quickly, hoping it wasn't too clear that I was trying to distract him.

"Yes," he agreed, wary.

"Well, I was thinking, since it's still my birthday, that I'd like you to kiss me again."

"You're greedy tonight."

"Yes, I am—but please, don't do anything you don't want to do," I added, piqued.

He laughed and then sighed. "Heaven forbid that I should do anything I don't want to do," he said in a strangely desperate tone as he put his hand under my chin and pulled my face up to his.

The kiss began much the same as usual—Jack was as careful as ever, and my heart began to overreact like it always did and then something seemed to change. Suddenly his lips became much more urgent, his free hand twisted into my hair and held my face securely to his and, though my hands tangled in his hair, too, and though I was clearly beginning to cross his cautious lines, for once he didn't stop me.

His body was cold through the thin quilt, but I crushed myself against him eagerly. When he stopped it was abrupt; he pushed me away with gentle, firm hands. I collapsed back onto my pillow, gasping, my head spinning. Something tugged at my memory, elusive,on the edges.

"Sorry," he said, and he was breathless, too. "That was out of line."

"I don't mind," I panted.

He frowned at me in the darkness. "Try to sleep. Hiccup."

"No, I want you to kiss me again." "You're overestimating my self-control." "Which is tempting you more, my blood or my body?" I challenged.

"It's a tie." He grinned briefly in spite of himself, and then was serious again. "Now, why don't you stop pushing your luck and go to sleep?"Fine," I agreed, snuggling closer to him. I really did feel exhausted. It had been a long day in so many ways, yet I felt no sense of relief at its end. Almost as if something worse was coming tomorrow. It was a silly premonition—what could be worse than today?' Just the shock catching up with me, no doubt.

Trying to be sneaky about it, I pressed my injured arm against his shoulder, so his cool skin would sooth the burning. It felt better at once.

I was halfway asleep, maybe more, when I realized what his kiss had reminded me of last spring when he'd had to leave me to throw Dagur off my trail, Jack had kissed me goodbye, not knowing when—or if—we would see each other again. This kiss had the same almost painful edge for some reason I couldn't imagine. I shuddered into unconsciousness as if I were already having a nightmare.

 _ **A/N - Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and as always, if your enjoying this story and aren't following it yet please do consider it means so much to know that people enjoy this story and I hope you all have a wonderful day.**_


	3. Chapter 3: The End

_**Author's Note - Hi everyone, hope you all enjoy this chapter. I'll be hanging out with a very special someone who's just finished his first year of college and who's home now till college starts up again and he has to go back to England again, so until then I'm going to enjoy every second with him. Anyways Enjoy the chapter everyone.**_

 _ **Hiccup's P.O.V:**_

I felt absolutely hideous in the morning. I hadn't slept well; my arm burned and my head ached. It didn't help my outlook that Jack's face was smooth and remote as he kissed my forehead quickly and ducked out my window. I was afraid of the time I'd spent unconscious, afraid that he might have been thinking about right and wrong again while he watched me sleep. The anxiety seemed to ratchet up the intensity of the pounding in my head.

Jack was waiting for me at school, as usual, but his face was still wrong. There was something buried in his eyes that I couldn't be sure of and it scared me. I didn't want to bring up last night, but I wasn't sure if avoiding the subject would be worse.

He opened my door for me.

"How do you feel?"

"Perfect," I lied, cringing as the sound of the slamming door echoed in my head.

We walked in silence, he shortening his stride to match mine. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but most of those questions would have to wait because they were for Emma: How was Bunnymund this morning? What had they said when I was gone? What had Rapunzel said? And most importantly, what could she see happening now in her strange, imperfect visions of the future? Could she guess what Jack was thinking, why he was so gloomy? Was there a foundation for the tenuous, instinctive fears that I couldn't seem to shake?

The morning passed slowly. I was impatient to see Emma, though I wouldn't be able to really talk to her with Jack there. Jack remained aloof. Occasionally he would ask about my arm, and I would lie.

Emma usually beat us to lunch; she didn't have to keep pace with a sloth like me, as I struggled to keep up with my prostetic leg but she wasn't at the table, waiting with a tray of food she wouldn't eat.

Jack didn't say anything about her absence. I wondered to myself if her class was running late.

"Where's Emma?" I asked Jack anxiously.

He looked at the granola bar he was slowly pulverising between his fingertips while he answered. "She's with Bunnymund."

"Is he okay?"

"He's gone away for a while."

"What? Where?"

Jack shrugged. "Nowhere in particular."

"And Emma, too," I said with quiet desperation. Of course, if Bunnymund needed her, she would go.

"Yes. She'll be gone for a while. She was trying to convince him to go to Denali."

Denali was where the one other band of unique vampires good ones like the Frosts lived. Moana and her family. I'd heard of them now and again. Jack had run to them last winter when my arrival had made Forks difficult for him. Hans, the most civilised member of Dagur's little coven, had gone there rather than siding with Dagur against the Frosts. It made sense for Emma to encourage Bunnymund to go there.

I swallowed, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in my throat. The guilt made my head bow and my shoulders slump. I'd run them out of their home, just like Rapunzel and Snoutlout. I was a plague.

"Is your arm bothering you?" he asked solicitously.

"Who cares about my stupid arm?" I muttered in disgust.

He didn't answer, and I put my head down on the table. By the end of the day, the silence was becoming ridiculous. I didn't want to be the one to break it, but apparently that was my only choice if I ever wanted him to talk to me again.

"You'll come over later tonight?" I asked as he walked me silently to my truck. He always came over.

"Later?"

It pleased me that he seemed surprised. "I have to work. I had to trade with Mrs Hamada to get yesterday off."

"Oh," he murmured.

"So you'll come over when I'm home, though, right?" I hated that I felt suddenly unsure about this.

"If you want me to."

"I always want you," I reminded him, with perhaps a little more intensity than the conversation required. I expected he would laugh, or smile, or react somehow to my words.

"All right, then," he said indifferently.

He kissed my forehead again before he shut the door on me. Then he turned his back and loped gracefully toward his car. I was able to drive out of the parking lot before the panic really hit, but I was hyperventilating by the time I got to Hamada's.

He just needed time, I told myself. He would get over this. Maybe he was sad because his family was disappearing but Emma and Bunnymund would come back soon, and Rapunzel and Snoutlout, too. If it would help, I would stay away from the big white house on the river, I'd never set foot there again. That didn't matter. I'd still see Emma at school. She would have to come back for school, right? And she was at my place all the time anyway. She wouldn't want to hurt Stoick's feelings by staying away.

No doubt I would also run into North with regularity in the emergency room.

After all, what had happened last night was nothing. Nothing had happened. So I fell down that was the story of my life. Compared to last spring, it seemed especially unimportant. Dagur had left me broken and nearly dead from loss of blood and yet Jack had handled the interminable weeks in the hospital much better than this. Was it because, this time, it wasn't an enemy he'd had to protect me from? Because it was his brother?

Maybe it would be better if he took me away, rather than his family being scattered. I grew slightly less depressed as I considered all the uninterrupted alone time. If he could just last through the school year, Stoick wouldn't be able to object. We could go away to college, or pretend that's what we were doing, like Rapunzel and Snoutlout this year. Surely Jack could wait a year. What was a year to an immortal? It didn't even seem like that much to me.

I was able to talk myself into enough composure to handle getting out of the truck and walking to the store. Tadashi Hamada had beaten me here today, and he smiled and waved when I came in. I grabbed my vest, nodding vaguely in his direction. I was still imagining pleasant scenarios that consisted of me running away with Jack to various exotic locales.

Tadashi interrupted my fantasy. "How was your birthday?"

"Ugh," I mumbled. "I'm glad it's over."

Tadashi looked at me from the corners of his eyes like I was crazy.

Work dragged. I wanted to see Jack again, praying that he would be past the worst of this, whatever it was exactly, by the time I saw him again. It's nothing, I told myself over and over again. Everything will go back to normal. The relief I felt when I turned onto my street and saw Jack's silver car parked in front of my house was an overwhelming, heady thing. And it bothered me deeply that it should be that way.

I hurried through the front door, calling out before I was completely inside.

"Dad? Jack?"

As I spoke, I could hear the distinctive theme music from ESPN's SportsCenter coming from the living room.

"In here," Stoick called.

I hung my raincoat on its peg and hurried around the corner. Jack was in the armchair, my father on the sofa. Both had their eyes trained on the TV. The focus was normal for my father. Not so much for Jack.

"Hi," I said weakly.

"Hey, Hiccup," my father answered, eyes never moving. "We just had cold pizza. I think it's still on the table."

"Okay."

I waited in the doorway. Finally, Jack looked over at me with a polite smile. "I'll be right behind you," he promised. His eyes strayed back to the TV.

I stared for another minute, shocked. Neither one seemed to notice. I could feel something, panic maybe, building up in my chest. I escaped to the kitchen. The pizza held no interest for me. I sat in my chair, pulled my knees up, and wrapped my arms around them. Something was very wrong, maybe more wrong than I'd realised. The sounds of male bonding and banter continued from the TV set.

I tried to get control of myself, to reason with myself.

What's the worst that can happen? I flinched. That was definitely the wrong question to ask. I was having a hard time breathing right. Okay, I thought again, what's the worst I can live through? I didn't like that question so much, either. But I thought through the possibilities I'd considered today. Staying away from Jack's family. Of course, he wouldn't expect Emma to be part of that but if Bunnymund was off limits, that would lessen the time I could have with her. I nodded to myself I could live with that.

Or going away. Maybe he wouldn't want to wait until the end of the school year, maybe it would have to be now.

In front of me, on the table, my presents from Stoick and Valka were where I had left them, the camera I hadn't had the chance to use at the Frosts' sitting beside the album. I touched the pretty cover of the scrapbook my mother had given me and sighed, thinking of Valka. Somehow, living without her for as long as I had did not make the idea of a more permanent separation easier and Stoick would be left all alone here, abandoned. They would both be so hurt.

But we'd come back, right? We'd visit, of course, wouldn't we?

I couldn't be certain about the answer to that.

I leant my cheek against my knee, staring at the physical tokens of my parents' love. I'd known this path I'd chosen was going to be hard and after all, I was thinking about the worst-case scenario the very worst I could live through. I touched the scrapbook again, flipping the front cover over. Little metal corners were already in place to hold the first picture. It wasn't a half-bad idea, to make some record of my life here. I felt a strange urge to get started. Maybe I didn't have that long left in Burgess.

I toyed with the wrist strap on the camera, wondering about the first picture on the roll. Could it possibly turn out anything close to the original? I doubted it. But he didn't seem worried that it would be blank. I chuckled to myself, thinking of his carefree laughter last night. The chuckle died away. So much had changed, and so abruptly. It made me feel a little bit dizzy like I was standing on an edge, a precipice somewhere much too high.

I didn't want to think about that anymore. I grabbed the camera and headed up the stairs.

My room hadn't really changed all that much in the seventeen years since my mother had been here. The walls were still light blue, the same yellowed lace curtains hung in front of the window. There was a bed, rather than a crib, but she would recognise the quilt draped untidily over the top, it had been a gift, from Gran.

Regardless, I snapped a picture of my room. There wasn't much else I could do tonight it was too dark outside and the feeling was growing stronger, it was almost a compulsion now. I would record everything about Forks before I had to leave it.

Change was coming. I could feel it. It wasn't a pleasant prospect, not when life was perfect the way it was.

I took my time coming back down the stairs, camera in hand, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach as I thought of the strange distance I didn't want to see in Jack's eyes. He would get over this. Probably he was worried that I would be upset when he asked me to leave. I would let him work through it without meddling. And I would be prepared when he asked. I had the camera ready as I leant around the corner, being sneaky. I was sure there was no chance that I had caught Jack by surprise, but he didn't look up. I felt a brief shiver as something icy twisted in my stomach; I ignored that and took the picture.

They both looked at me then. Stoick frowned. Jack's face was empty, expressionless.

"What are you doing, Hiccup?" Stoick complained.

"Oh, come on." I pretended to smile as I went to sit on the floor in front of the sofa where Stoick lounged. "You know Mom will be calling soon to ask if I'm using my presents. I have to get to work before she can get her feelings hurt."

"Why are you taking pictures of me, though?" he grumbled.

"Because you're so handsome," I replied, keeping it light. "And because, since you bought the camera, you're obligated to be one of my subjects."

He mumbled something unintelligible.

"Hey, Jack," I said with admirable indifference. "Take one of me and my dad together."

I threw the camera toward him, carefully avoiding his eyes, and knelt beside the arm of the sofa where Stoick's face was. Stoick sighed.

"You need to smile, Hiccup," Jack murmured.

I did my best, and the camera flashed.

"Let me take one of you kids," Stoick suggested. I knew he was just trying to shift the camera's focus from himself.

Jack stood and lightly tossed him the camera.

I went to stand beside Jack, and the arrangement felt formal and strange to me. He put one hand lightly on my shoulder and I wrapped my arm more securely around his waist. I wanted to look at his face, but I was afraid to.

"Smile, Hiccup," Stoick reminded me again.

I took a deep breath and smiled. The flash blinded me.

"Enough pictures for tonight," Stoick said then, shoving the camera into a crevice of the sofa cushions and rolling over it. "You don't have to use the whole roll now."

Jack dropped his hand from my shoulder and twisted casually out of my arm. He sat back down in the armchair. I hesitated and then went to sit on the sofa again. I was suddenly so frightened that my hands were shaking. I pressed them into my stomach to hide them, put my chin on my knees and stared at the TV screen in front of me, seeing nothing.

When the show ended, I hadn't moved an inch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack stand.

"I'd better get home," he said.

Stoick didn't look up from the commercial. "See ya."

I got awkwardly to my feet, I was stiff from sitting so still and followed Jack out the front door. He went straight to his car.

"Will you stay?" I asked, no hope in my voice.

I expected his answer, so it didn't hurt as much.

"Not tonight."

I didn't ask for a reason.

He got in his car and drove away while I stood there, unmoving. I barely noticed that it was raining. I waited, without knowing what I waited for until the door opened behind me.

"Hiccup, what are you doing?" Stoick asked, surprised to see me standing there alone and dripping.

"Nothing." I turned and trudged back to the house.

It was a long night, with little in the way of rest.

I got up as soon as there was a faint light outside my window. I dressed for school mechanically, waiting for the clouds to brighten. When I had eaten a bowl of cereal, I decided that it was light enough for pictures. I took one of my truck, and then the front of the house. I turned and snapped a few of the forest by Stoick's house. Funny how it didn't seem sinister like it used to. I realised I would miss the green, the timelessness, the mystery of the woods. All of it.

I put the camera in my school bag before I left. I tried to concentrate on my new project rather than the fact that Jack apparently hadn't gotten over things during the night. Along with the fear, I was beginning to feel impatience. How long could this last?

It lasted through the morning. He walked silently beside me, never seeming to actually look at me. I tried to concentrate on my classes, but not even English could hold my attention.

At lunch, the silence continued. I felt like I was going to start screaming at any moment, so, to distract myself, I leant across the table's invisible line and spoke to Honey.

"Hey, Honey?"

"What's up, Hiccup?"

"Could you do me a favour?" I asked, reaching into my bag. "My mom wants me to get some pictures of my friends for a scrapbook. So, take some pictures of everybody, okay?"

I handed her the camera.

"Sure," she said, grinning and turned to snap a candid shot of Tadashi with his mouth full.

A predictable picture war ensued. I watched them hand the camera around the table, giggling and flirting and complaining about being on film. It seemed strangely childish. Maybe I just wasn't in the mood for normal human behaviour today.

"Uh-oh," Honey said apologetically as she returned the camera. "I think we used all your film."

"That's okay. I think I already got pictures of everything else I needed."

After school, Jack walked me back to the parking lot in silence. I had to work again and for once, I was glad. Time with me obviously wasn't helping things. Maybe time alone would be better. I dropped my film off at the Thriftway on my way to Hamada's and then picked up the developed pictures after work. At home, I said a brief hi to Stoick, grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen, and hurried up to my room with the envelope of photographs tucked under my arm.

I sat in the middle of my bed and opened the envelope with wary curiosity. Ridiculously, I still half expected the first print to be blank. When I pulled it out, I gasped aloud. Jack looked just as beautiful as he did in real life, staring me out of the picture with the warm eyes I'd missed for the past few days. It was almost uncanny that anyone could look so beyond description. No thousand words could equal this picture.

I flipped through the rest of the stack quickly once, and then laid three of them out on the bed side by side.

The first was the picture of Jack in the kitchen, his warm eyes touched with tolerant amusement. The second was Jack and Stoick, watching ESPN. The difference in Jack's expression was severe. His eyes were careful here, reserved. Still breathtakingly beautiful, but his face was colder, more like a sculpture, less alive. The last was the picture of Jack and me standing awkwardly side by side. Jack's face was the same as the last, cold and statue-like but that wasn't the most troubling part of this photograph. The contrast between the two of us was painful. He looked like a god. I looked very average, even for a human, almost shamefully plain. I flipped the picture over with a feeling of disgust.

Instead of doing my homework, I stayed up to put my pictures into the album. With a ballpoint pen, I scrawled captions under all the pictures, the names and the dates. I got to the picture of Jack and me, and, without looking at it too long, I folded it in half and stuck it under the metal tab, Jack-side up.

When I was done, I stuffed the second set of prints in a fresh envelope and penned a long thank-you letter to Valka.

Jack still hadn't come over. I didn't want to admit that he was the reason I'd stayed up so late, but of course, he was. I tried to remember the last time he'd stayed away like this, without an excuse, a phone call. He never had.

Again, I didn't sleep well.

School followed the silent, frustrating, terrifying pattern of the last two days. I felt relief when I saw Jack waiting for me in the parking lot, but it faded quickly. He was no different, unless maybe more remote.

It was hard to even remember the reason for all this mess. My birthday already felt like the distant past. If only Emma would come back. Soon. Before this got any more out of hand but I couldn't count on that. I decided that, if I couldn't talk to him today, really talk, then I was going to see North tomorrow. I had to do something. After school, Jack and I were going to talk it out, I promised myself. I wasn't accepting any excuses.

He walked me to my truck and I steeled myself to make my demands.

"Do you mind if I come over today?" he asked before we got to the truck, beating me to the punch.

"Of course not."

"Now?" he asked again, opening my door for me.

"Sure," I kept my voice even, though I didn't like the urgency in his tone. "I was just going to drop a letter for Valka in the mailbox on the way. I'll meet you there."

He looked at the fat envelope on the passenger seat. Suddenly, he reached over me and snagged it.

"I'll do it," he said quietly. "And I'll still beat you there." He smiled my favourite crooked smile, but it was wrong. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Okay," I agreed, unable to smile back. He shut the door and headed toward his car.

He did beat me home. He was parked in Stoick's spot when I pulled up in front of the house. That was a bad sign. He didn't plan to stay, then. I shook my head and took a deep breath, trying to locate some courage. He got out of his car when I stepped out of the truck and came to meet me. He reached to take my book bag from me. That was normal but he shoved it back onto the seat. That was not normal.

"Come for a walk with me," he suggested in an unemotional voice, taking my hand.

I didn't answer. I couldn't think of a way to protest, but I instantly knew that I wanted to. I didn't like this. This is bad, this is very bad, the voice in my head repeated again and again but he didn't wait for an answer. He pulled me along toward the east side of the yard, where the forest encroached. I followed unwillingly, trying to think through the panic. It was what I wanted, I reminded myself. The chance to talk it all through. So why was the panic choking me?

We'd gone only a few steps into the trees when he stopped. We were barely on the trail I could still see the house.

Some walk.

Jack leant against a tree and stared at me, his expression unreadable.

"Okay, let's talk," I said. It sounded braver than it felt.

He took a deep breath.

"Hiccup, we're leaving."

I took a deep breath, too. This was an acceptable option. I thought I was prepared. But I still had to ask.

"Why now? Another year"

"Hiccup, it's time. How much longer could we stay in Forks, after all? North can barely pass for thirty, and he's claiming thirty-three now. We'd have to start over soon regardless."

His answer confused me. I thought the point of leaving was to let his family live in peace. Why did we have to leave if they were going? I stared at him, trying to understand what he meant.

He stared back coldly.

With a roll of nausea, I realised I'd misunderstood.

"When you say we," I whispered.

"I mean my family and myself." Each word separate and distinct.

I shook my head back and forth mechanically, trying to clear it. He waited without any sign of impatience. It took a few minutes before I could speak.

"Okay," I said. "I'll come with you."

"You can't, Hiccup. Where we're going It's not the right place for you."

"Where you are is the right place for me."

"I'm no good for you, HIccup."

"Don't be ridiculous." I wanted to sound angry, but it just sounded like I was begging. "You're the very best part of my life."

"My world is not for you," he said grimly.

"What happened with Bunnymund that was nothing, Jack! Nothing!"

"You're right," he agreed. "It was exactly what was to be expected."

"You promised! In Berk, you promised that you would stay"

"As long as that was best for you," he interrupted to correct me.

"No! This is about my soul, isn't it?" I shouted, furious, the words exploding out of me somehow it still sounded like a plea. "North told me about that, and I don't care, Jack. I don't care! You can have my soul. I don't want it without you it's yours already!"

He took a deep breath and stared, unseeingly, at the ground for a long moment. His mouth twisted the tiniest bit. When he finally looked up, his eyes were different, harder like the ocean blue had frozen solid.

"Hiccup, I don't want you to come with me." He spoke the words slowly and precisely, his cold eyes on my face, watching as I absorbed what he was really saying.

There was a pause as I repeated the words in my head a few times, sifting through them for their real intent.

"You don't want me?" I tried out the words, confused by the way they sounded, placed in that order.

"No."

I stared, uncomprehending, into his eyes. He stared back without apology. His eyes were like sapphires, hard and clear and very deep. I felt like I could see into them for miles and miles, yet nowhere in their bottomless depths could I see a contradiction to the word he'd spoken.

"Well, that changes things." I was surprised by how calm and reasonable my voice sounded. It must be because I was so numb. I couldn't realise what he was telling me. It still didn't make any sense.

He looked away into the trees as he spoke again. "Of course, I'll always love you in a way but what happened the other night made me realise that it's time for a change because I'm tired of pretending to be something I'm not, Hiccup. I am not human." He looked back, and the icy planes of his perfect face were not human. "I've let this go on much too long, and I'm sorry for that."

"Don't." My voice was just a whisper now; awareness was beginning to seep through me, trickling like acid through my veins. "Don't do this."

He just stared at me, and I could see from his eyes that my words were far too late. He already had.

"You're not good for me, Hiccup." He turned his earlier words around, and so I had no argument. How well I knew that I wasn't good enough for him. I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. He waited patiently, his face wiped clean of all emotion. I tried again.

"If that's what you want."

He nodded once.

My whole body went numb. I couldn't feel anything below the neck.

"I would like to ask one favour, though, if that's not too much," he said.

I wonder what he saw on my face because something flickered across his own face in response but, before I could identify it, he'd composed his features into the same serene mask.

"Anything," I vowed, my voice faintly stronger. As I watched, his frozen eyes melted.

"Don't do anything reckless or stupid," he ordered, no longer detached. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I nodded helplessly.

His eyes cooled, the distance returned. "I'm thinking of Stoick, of course. He needs you. Take care of yourself for him."

I nodded again. "I will," I whispered.

He seemed to relax just a little.

"And I'll make you a promise in return," he said. "I promise that this will be the last time you'll see me. I won't come back. I won't put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me. It will be as if I'd never existed."

My knees must have started to shake because the trees were suddenly wobbling. I could hear the blood pounding faster than normal behind my ears. His voice sounded farther away.

He smiled gently. "Don't worry. You're human... your memory is no more than a sieve. Time heals all wounds for your kind."

"And your memories?" I asked. It sounded like there was something stuck in my throat like I was choking.

"Well," he hesitated for a short second "I won't forget. But my kind we're very easily distracted." He smiled; the smile was tranquil and it did not touch his eyes.

He took a step away from me. "That's everything, I suppose. We won't bother you again."

The plural caught my attention. That surprised me; I would have thought I was beyond noticing anything.

"Emma isn't coming back," I realised. I don't know how he heard me the words made no sound but he seemed to understand.

He shook his head slowly, always watching my face.

"No. They're all gone. I stayed behind to tell you goodbye."

"Emma is gone?" My voice was blank with disbelief.

"She wanted to say goodbye but I convinced her that a clean break would be better for you."

I was dizzy; it was hard to concentrate. His words swirled around in my head, and I heard the doctor at the hospital in Berk, last spring, as he showed me the X-rays. You can see its shattered, his finger traced along the picture of my destroyed bone, "I'm afraid it won't heal".

I tried to breathe normally. I needed to concentrate, to find a way out of this nightmare.

"Goodbye, Hiccup," he said in the same quiet, peaceful voice.

"Wait!" I choked out the word, reaching for him, willing my deadened legs to carry me forward.

I thought he was reaching for me, too but his cold hands locked around my wrists and pinned them to my sides. He leant down and pressed his lips very lightly to my forehead for the briefest instant. My eyes closed.

"Take care of yourself," he breathed, cool against my skin.

There was a light, unnatural breeze. My eyes flashed open. The leaves on a small vine maple shuddered with the gentle wind of his passage.

He was gone.

With shaky legs, ignoring the fact that my action was useless, I followed him into the forest. The evidence of his path had disappeared instantly. There were no footprints, the leaves were still again, however, I walked forward without thinking. I could not do anything else. I had to keep moving. If I stopped looking for him, it was over.

Love, life, meaning over.

I walked and walked. Time made no sense as I pushed slowly through the thick undergrowth. It was hours passing but also only seconds. Maybe it felt like time had frozen because the forest looked the same no matter how far I went. I started to worry that I was travelling in a circle, a very small circle at that but I kept going. I stumbled often and, as it grew darker and darker, I fell often, too.

Finally, I tripped over something it, was black now, I had no idea what caught my foot and I stayed down. I rolled onto my side, so that I could breathe and curled up on the wet bracken.

As I lay there, I had a feeling that more time was passing than I realised. I couldn't remember how long it had been since nightfall. Was it always so dark here at night? Surely, as a rule, some little bit of moonlight would filter down through the clouds, through the chinks in the canopy of trees and find the ground.

Not tonight.

I shivered, though I wasn't cold. It was black for a long time before I heard them calling.

Someone was shouting my name. It was muted, muffled by the wet growth that surrounded me, but it was definitely my name. I didn't recognise the voice. I thought about answering but I was dazed and it took a long time to come to the conclusion that I should answer. By then, the calling had stopped.

Some time later, the rain woke me up. I don't think I'd really fallen asleep; I was just lost in an unthinking stupor, holding with all my strength to the numbness that kept me from realising what I didn't want to know.

The rain bothered me a little. It was cold. I unwrapped my arms from around my legs to cover my face.

It was then that I heard the calling again. It was farther away this time and sometimes it sounded like several voices were calling at once. I tried to breathe deeply. I remembered that I should answer but I didn't think they would be able to hear me. Would I be able to shout loud enough?

Suddenly, there was another sound, startlingly close. A kind of snuffling, an animal sound. It sounded big. I wondered if I should feel afraid. I didn't just numb. It didn't matter. The snuffling went away.

The rain continued, and I could feel the water pooling up against my cheek. I was trying to gather the strength to turn my head when I saw the light. At first, it was just a dim glow reflecting off the bushes in the distance. It grew brighter and brighter, illuminating a large space unlike the focused beam of a flashlight. The light broke through the closest brush, and I could see that it was a propane lantern but that was all I could see as the brightness blinded me for a moment.

"Hiccup."

The voice was deep and unfamiliar, but full of recognition. He wasn't calling my name to search, he was acknowledging that I was found.

I stared up impossibly high it seemed at the dark face that I could now see above me. I was vaguely aware that the stranger probably only looked so tall because my head was still on the ground.

"Have you been hurt?"

I knew the words meant something, but I could only stare, bewildered. How could the meaning matter at this point?

"Hiccup, my name is Eret."

There was nothing familiar about his name.

"Stoick sent me to look for you."

Stoick? That struck a chord, and I tried to pay more attention to what he was saying. Stoick mattered if nothing else did. The tall man held out a hand. I gazed at it, not sure what I was supposed to do.

His hazel eyes appraised me for a second, and then he shrugged. In a quick and supple notion, he pulled me up from the ground and into his arms. I hung there, limp, as he loped swiftly through the wet forest. Some part of me knew this should upset me being carried away by a stranger. But there was nothing left in me to upset. It didn't seem like too much time passed before there were lights and the deep babble of many male voices. Eret slowed as he approached the commotion.

"I've got him!" he called in a booming voice.

The babble ceased, and then picked up again with more intensity. A confusing swirl of faces moved over me. Eret's voice was the only one that made sense in the chaos, perhaps because my ear was against his chest.

"No, I don't think he's hurt," he told someone. "He just keeps saying 'He's gone.' "

Was I saying that out loud? I bit down on my lip.

"Hiccup, honey, are you all right?"

That was one voice I would know anywhere even distorted, as it was now, with worry.

"Stoick?" My voice sounded strange and small.

"I'm right here, son."

There was a shifting under me, followed by the leathery smell of my dad's sheriff jacket. Stoick staggered under my weight.

"Maybe I should hold on to him," Eret suggested.

"I've got him," Stoick said, a little breathless.

He walked slowly, struggling. I wished I could tell him to put me down and let me walk, but I couldn't find my voice. There were lights everywhere, held by the crowd walking with him. It felt like a parade. Or a funeral procession. I closed my eyes.

"We're almost home now, Hiccup," Stoick mumbled now and then.

I opened my eyes again when I heard the door unlock. We were on the porch of our house, and the tall dark man named Eret was holding the door for Stoick, one arm extended toward us, as if he was preparing to catch me when Stoick's arms failed but Stoick managed to get me through the door and to the couch in the living room.

"Dad, I'm all wet," I objected feebly.

"That doesn't matter." His voice was gruff. And then he was talking to someone else. "Blankets are in the cupboard at the top of the stairs."

"Hiccup?" a new voice asked. I looked at the gray-haired man leaning over me, and recognition came after a few slow seconds.

"Dr. Krei?" I mumbled.

"That's right," he said. "Are you hurt, Hiccup?"

It took me a minute to think that through. I was confused by the memory of Eret's similar question in the woods. Only Eret had asked something else: Have you been hurt? he'd said. The difference seemed significant somehow.

Dr. Krei was waiting. One grizzled eyebrow rose, and the wrinkles on his forehead deepened.

"I'm not hurt," I lied. The words were true enough for what he'd asked.

His warm hand touched my forehead, and his fingers pressed against the inside of my wrist. I watched his lips as he counted to himself, his eyes on his watch.

"What happened to you?" he asked casually.

I froze under his hand, tasting panic in the back of my throat.

"Did you get lost in the woods?" he prodded.

I was aware of several other people listening. Three tall men with dark faces from La Push, the Quileute Indian reservation down on the coastline, I guessed Eret among them, were standing very close together and staring at me. Mrs. Hamada was there with Tadashi and Elinor they all were watching me more surreptitiously than the strangers. Other deep voices rumbled from the kitchen and outside the front door. Half the town must have been looking for me.

Stoick was the closest. He leant in to hear my answer.

"Yes," I whispered. "I got lost."

The doctor nodded, thoughtful, his fingers probing gently against the glands under my jaw. Stoick's face hardened.

"Do you feel tired?" Dr. Krei asked.

I nodded and closed my eyes obediently.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with him," I heard the doctor mutter to Stoick after a moment. "Just exhaustion. Let him sleep it off, and I'll come check on him tomorrow," he paused. He must have looked at his watch because he added, "Well, later today actually."

There was a creaking sound as they both pushed off from the couch to get to their feet.

"Is it true?" Stoick whispered. Their voices were farther away now. I strained to hear. "Did they leave?"

"Dr. Frost asked us not to say anything," Dr. Krei answered. "The offer was very sudden; they had to choose immediately. North didn't want to make a big production out of leaving."

"A little warning might have been nice," Stoick grumbled.

Dr. Krei sounded uncomfortable when he replied. "Yes, well, in this situation, some warning might have been called for."

I didn't want to listen anymore. I felt around for the edge of the quilt someone had laid on top of me and pulled it over my ear.

I drifted in and out of alertness. I heard Stoick whisper thanks to the volunteers as, one by one, they left. I felt his fingers on my forehead and then the weight of another blanket. The phone rang a few times and he hurried to catch it before it could wake me. He muttered reassurances in a low voice to the callers.

"Yeah, we found him. He's okay. He got lost. He's fine now," he said again and again.

I heard the springs in the armchair groan when he settled himself in for the night.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again.

Stoick moaned as he struggled to his feet and then he rushed, stumbling, to the kitchen I pulled my head deeper under the blankets, not wanting to listen to the same conversation again.

"Yeah," Stoick said and yawned.

His voice changed, it was much more alert when he spoke again. "Where?'" There was a pause. "You're sure it's outside the reservation?" Another short pause. "But what could be burning out there?" He sounded both worried and mystified. "Look, I'll call down there and check it out."

I listened with more interest as he punched in a number.

"Hey, Gobber, it's Stoick sorry I'm calling so early, no, he's fine. He's sleeping. Thanks, but that's not why I called. I just got a call from Mrs. Lemon, and she says that from her second-story window she can see fires out on the sea cliffs but I didn't really, Oh!" Suddenly there was an edge in his voice irritation or anger. "And why are they doing that? Uh huh. Really?" He said it sarcastically. "Well, don't apologise to me. Yeah, yeah. Just make sure the flames don't spread I know, I know, I'm surprised they got them lit at all in this weather."

Stoick hesitated, and then added grudgingly. "Thanks for sending Eret and the other boys up. You were right they do know the forest better than we do. It was Eret who found him, so I owe you one, yeah, I'll talk to you later," he agreed, still sour, before hanging up.

Stoick muttered something incoherent as he shuffled back to the living room.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He hurried to my side.

"I'm sorry I woke you, son."

"Is something burning?"

"It's nothing," he assured me. "Just some bonfires out on the cliffs."

"Bonfires?" I asked. My voice didn't sound curious. It sounded dead.

Stoick frowned. "Some of the kids from the reservation being rowdy," he explained.

"Why?" I wondered dully.

I could tell he didn't want to answer. He looked at the floor under his knees. "They're celebrating the news." His tone was bitter.

There was only one piece of news I could think of, try as I might not to. And then the pieces snapped together. "Because the Frosts left," I whispered. "They don't like the Frosts in La Push I'd forgotten about that."

The Quileutes had their superstitions about the "cold ones," the blood-drinkers that were enemies to their tribe, just like they had their legends of the great flood and wolf-men ancestors. Just stories, folklore, to most of them. Then there were the few that believed. Stoick's good friend Gobber believed, though even Toothless, his own son, thought he was full of stupid superstitions. Gobber had warned me to stay away from the Frosts.

The name stirred something inside me, something that began to claw its way toward the surface, something I knew I didn't want to face.

"It's ridiculous," Stoick spluttered.

We sat in silence for a moment. The sky was no longer black outside the window. Somewhere behind the rain, the sun was beginning to rise.

"Hiccup?" Stoick asked.

I looked at him uneasily.

"He left you alone in the woods?" Stoick guessed.

I deflected his question. "How did you know where to find me?" My mind shied away from the inevitable awareness that was coming, coming quickly now.

"Your note," Stoick answered. surprised. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a much-abused piece of paper. It was dirty and damp, with multiple creases from being opened and refolded many times. He unfolded it again and held it up as evidence. The messy handwriting was remarkably close to my own.

Going for a walk with Jack, up the path, it said. Back soon, Hiccup.

"When you didn't come back, I called the Frosts, and no one answered," Stoick said in a low voice. "Then I called the hospital, and Dr. Krei told me that North was gone."

"Where did they go?" I mumbled.

He stared at me. "Didn't Jack tell you?"

I shook my head, recoiling. The sound of his name unleashed the thing that was clawing inside of me a pain that knocked me breathless, astonished me with its force. Stoick eyed me doubtfully as he answered. "North took a job with a big hospital in Los Angeles. I guess they threw a lot of money at him."

Sunny L.A. The last place they would really go. I remembered my nightmare with the mirror the bright sunlight shimmering off of his skin. Agony ripped through me with the memory of his face.

"I want to know if Jack left you alone out there in the middle of the woods," Stoick insisted.

His name sent another wave of torture through me. I shook my head, frantic, desperate to escape the pain. "It was my fault. He left me right here on the trail, in sight of the house but I tried to follow him."

Stoick started to say something; childishly, I covered my ears. "I can't talk about this anymore, Dad. I want to go to my room."

Before he could answer, I scrambled up from the couch and lurched my way up the stairs.

Someone had been in the house to leave a note for Stoick, a note that would lead him to find me. From the minute that I'd realised this, a horrible suspicion began to grow in my head. I rushed to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me before I ran to the CD player by my bed.

Everything looked exactly the same as I'd left it. I pressed down on the top of the CD player. The latch unhooked, and the lid slowly swung open.

It was empty.

The album Valka had given me sat on the floor beside the bed, just where I'd put it last. I lifted the cover with a shaking hand.

I didn't have to flip any farther than the first page. The little metal corners no longer held a picture in place. The page was blank except for my own handwriting scrawled across the bottom: Jack Frost, Stoick's kitchen, Sept. 13th.

I stopped there. I was sure that he would have been very thorough.

It will be as if I'd never existed, he'd promised me.

I felt the smooth wooden floor beneath my knees and then the palms of my hands, and then it was pressed against the skin of my cheek. I hoped that I was fainting but, to my disappointment, I didn't lose consciousness. The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under.

I did not resurface.

 _ **Author's Note - Hi everyone, so yeah, first of all for those of you who don't know, Eret is from How To Train Your Dragon and I felt like he fit the role of Sam pretty well, also Doctor Keri is from Big Hero 6. Anyways I hope you all enjoyed this update to this story. Now, all aboard the Toothcup/Frostcup, love triangle train. *Makes train noises***_

 _ **Stay awesome everyone, hope to see you all again in the next chapter.**_


	4. Chapter 4: Waking Up

_**Author's Note - Hi everyone guess who's back with his new chapter of the second Midnight instalment. Hope you all enjoy this chapter and are having a good day and if you aren't I hope this chapter cheers you up.**_

 _ **Hiccup's P.O.V:**_

Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second-hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

Stoick's fist came down on the table. "That's it, Hiccup! I'm sending you home." I looked up from my cereal, which I was pondering rather than eating, and stared at Stoick in shock. I hadn't been following the conversation—actually, I hadn't been aware that we were having a conversation and I wasn't sure what he meant.

"I am home," I mumbled, confused.

"I'm sending you to Valka, to Berk," he clarified.

Stoick watched with exasperation as I slowly grasped the meaning of his words.

"What did I do?" I felt my face crumple. It was so unfair. My behaviour had been above reproach for the past four months. After that first week, which neither of us ever mentioned, I hadn't missed a day of school or work. My grades were perfect. I never broke curfew—I never went anywhere from which to break curfew in the first place. I only very rarely served leftovers.

Stoick was scowling.

"You didn't do anything. That's the problem. You never do anything." "You want me to get into trouble?" I wondered, my eyebrows pulling together in mystification. I made an effort to pay attention. It wasn't easy. I was so used to tuning everything out, my ears felt stopped up.

"Trouble would be better than this… this moping around all the time!"That stung a bit. I'd been careful to avoid all forms of moroseness, moping included.

"I am not moping around." "Wrong word," he grudgingly conceded. "Moping would be better, that would be doing something. You're just… lifeless, Hiccup. I think that's the word I want." This accusation struck home. I sighed and tried to put some animation into my response.

"I'm sorry, Dad." My apology sounded a little flat, even to me. I'd thought I'd been fooling him. Keeping Stoick from suffering was the whole point of all this effort. How depressing to think that the effort had been wasted.

"I don't want you to apologise."I sighed. "Then tell me what you want me to do." "Hiccup," he hesitated, scrutinising my reaction to his next words. "Son, you're not the first person to go through this kind of thing, you know." "I know that." My accompanying grimace was limp and unimpressive.

"Listen, son. I think that—that maybe you need some help." "Help?" He paused, searching for the words again. "When your mother left," he began, frowning, "and took you with her." He inhaled deeply. "Well, that was a really bad time for me."

"I know, Dad," I mumbled.

"But I handled it," he pointed out. "Son, you're not handling it. I waited, I hoped it would get better." He stared at me and I looked down quickly. "I think we both know it's not getting better." "I'm fine."He ignored me. "Maybe, well, maybe if you talked to someone about it. A professional."You want me to see a shrink?" My voice was a shade sharper as I realised what he was getting at.

"Maybe it would help." "And maybe it wouldn't help one little bit." I didn't know much about psychoanalysis, but I was pretty sure that it didn't work unless the subject was relatively honest. Sure, I could tell the truth—if I wanted to spend the rest of my life in a padded cell.

He examined my obstinate expression and switched to another line of attack.

"It's beyond me, Hiccup. Maybe your mother—" "Look," I said in a flat voice. "I'll go out tonight if you want. I'll call Honey or Elinor." "That's not what I want," he argued, frustrated. "I don't think I can live through seeing you try harder. I've never seen anyone trying so hard. It hurts to watch."

I pretended to be dense, looking down at the table. "I don't understand, Dad. First, you're mad because I'm not doing anything, and then you say you don't want me to go out."

"I want you to be happy—no, not even that much. I just want you not to be miserable. I think you'll have a better chance if you get out of Burgess."

My eyes flashed up with the first small spark of feeling I'd had in too long to contemplate.

"I'm not leaving," I said.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"I'm in my last semester of school, it would screw everything up." "You're a good student, you'll figure it out." "I don't want to crowd Mom and Sandy." "Your mother's been dying to have you back." "Berk is too hot." His fist came down on the table again. "We both know what's really going on here, Hiccup, and it's not good for you." He took a deep breath. "It's been months. No calls, no letters, no contact. You can't keep waiting for him."

I glowered at him. The heat almost, but not quite, reached my face. It had been a long time since I'd blushed with any emotion. This whole subject was utterly forbidden, as he was well aware.

"I'm not waiting for anything. I don't expect anything," I said in a low monotone.

"Hiccup—," Stoick began, his voice thick.

"I have to get to school," I interrupted, standing up and yanking my untouched breakfast from the table. I dumped my bowl in the sink without pausing to wash it out. I couldn't deal with any more conversation.

"I'll make plans with Honey," I called over my shoulder as I strapped on my school bag, not meeting his eyes. "Maybe I won't be home for dinner. We'll go to Port Angeles and watch a movie." I was out the front door before he could react.

In my haste to get away from Stoick, I ended up being one of the first ones to school. The plus side was that I got a really good parking spot. The downside was that I had free time on my hands, and I tried to avoid free time at all costs.

Quickly, before I could start thinking about Stoick's accusations, I pulled out my Calculus book. I flipped it open to the section we should be starting today and tried to make sense of it. Reading math was even worse than listening to it, but I was getting better at it. In the last several months, I'd spent ten times the amount of time on Calculus than I'd ever spent on math before. As a result, I was managing to keep in the range of a low A. I knew Mr. Varner felt my improvement was all due to his superior teaching methods. And if that made him happy, I wasn't going to burst his bubble.

I forced myself to keep at it until the parking lot was full, and I ended up rushing to English. We were working on Animal Farm, an easy subject matter. I didn't mind communism; it was a welcome change from the exhausting romances that made up most of the curriculum. I settled into my seat, pleased by the distraction of Mr. Berty's lecture.

Time moved easily while I was in school. The bell rang all too soon. I started repacking my bag.

"Hiccup?" I recognised Kristoff's voice, and I knew what his next words would be before he said them.

"Are you working tomorrow?"I looked up. He was leaning across the aisle with an anxious expression. Every Friday he asked me the same question. Never mind that I hadn't taken so much as a sick day. Well, with one exception, months ago. But he had no reason to look at me with such concern. I was a model employee.

"Tomorrow is Saturday, isn't it?" I said. Having just had it pointed out to me by Stoick, I realised how lifeless my voice really sounded.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "See you in Spanish." He waved once before turning his back. He didn't bother walking me to class anymore.

I trudged off to Calculus with a grim expression. This was the class where I sat next to Honey.

It had been weeks, maybe months, since Honey had even greeted me when I passed her in the hall. I knew I had offended her with my antisocial behaviour, and she was sulking. It wasn't going to be easy to talk to her now, especially to ask her to do me a favour. I weighed my options carefully as I loitered outside the classroom, procrastinating.

I wasn't about to face Stoick again without some kind of social interaction to report. I knew I couldn't lie, though the thought of driving to Port Angeles and back alone—being sure my odometer reflected the correct mileage, just in case he checked, was very tempting. Honey's mom was the biggest gossiper in town, and Stoick was bound to run into Mrs. Stanley sooner rather than later. When he did, he would no doubt mention the trip. Lying was out.

With a sigh, I shoved the door open.

Mr. Varner gave me a dark look, he'd already started the lecture. I hurried to my seat. Honey didn't look up as I sat next to her. I was glad that I had fifty minutes to mentally prepare myself.

This class flew by even faster than English. A small part of that speed was due to my goody-goody preparation this morning in the truck, but mostly it stemmed from the fact that time always sped up when I was looking forward to something unpleasant.

I grimaced when Mr. Varner dismissed the class five minutes early. He smiled like he was being nice.

"Honey?" My nose wrinkled as I cringed, waiting for her to turn on me.

She twisted in her seat to face me, eyeing me incredulously. "Are you talking to me, Hiccup?"

"Of course." I widened my eyes to suggest innocence.

"What? Do you need help with Calculus?" Her tone was a tad sour.

"No." I shook my head. "Actually, I wanted to know if you would… go to the movies with me tonight? I really need a night out with friends." The words sounded stiff, like badly delivered lines, and she looked suspicious.

"Why are you asking me?" she asked, still unfriendly.

"You're the first person I think of when I want to hang out with friends." I smiled, and I hoped the smile looked genuine.

It was probably true. She was at least the first person I thought of when I wanted to avoid Stoick. It amounted to the same thing.

She seemed a little mollified. "Well, I don't know." "Do you have plans?" "No… I guess I can go with you. What do you want to see?" "I'm not sure what's playing," I hedged.

This was the tricky part. I racked my brain for a clue, hadn't I heard someone talk about a movie recently? Seen a poster? "How about that one with the female president?" She looked at me oddly. "Hiccup, that one's been out of the theatre forever."

"Oh." I frowned.

"Is there anything you'd like to see?" Honey's natural bubbliness started to leak out in spite of herself as she thought out loud. "Well, there's that new romantic comedy that's getting great reviews. I want to see that one. And my dad just saw Dead End and he really liked it." I grasped at the promising title.

"What's that one about?" "Zombies or something. He said it was the scariest thing he'd seen in years." "That sounds perfect." I'd rather deal with real zombies than watch a romance.

"Okay." She seemed surprised by my response. I tried to remember if I liked scary movies, but I wasn't sure. "Do you want me to pick you up after school?" she offered.

"Sure." Honey smiled at me with tentative friendliness before she left. My answering smile was just a little late, but I thought that she saw it.

The rest of the day passed quickly, my thoughts focused on planning for tonight. I knew from experience that once I got Honey talking, I would be able to get away with a few mumbled responses at the appropriate moments. Only minimal interaction would be required.

The thick haze that blurred my days now was sometimes confusing. I was surprised when I found myself in my room, not clearly remembering the drive home from school or even opening the front door. But that didn't matter. Losing track of time was the most I asked from life.

I didn't fight the haze as I turned to my closet. The numbness was more essential in some places than in others. I barely registered what I was looking at as I slid the door aside to reveal the pile of rubbish on the left side of my closet, under the clothes I never wore.

My eyes did not stray toward the black garbage bag that held my present from that last birthday, did not see the shape of the stereo where it strained against the black plastic; I didn't think of the bloody mess my nails had been when I'd finished clawing it out of the dashboard.

I yanked the old wallet I rarely used off of my desk and shoved the door shut.

Just then I heard a horn honking. I was in a hurry as if rushing would somehow make the night pass more quickly. I glanced at myself in the hall mirror before I opened the door, arranging my features carefully into a smile and trying to hold them there.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," I told Honey as I climbed into the passenger seat, trying to infuse my tone with gratitude. It had been a while since I'd really thought about what I was saying to anyone besides Stoick. Honey was harder. I wasn't sure which were the right emotions to fake.

"Sure. So, what brought this on?" Honey wondered as she drove down my street.

"Brought what on?"

"Why did you suddenly decide to go out?" It sounded like she changed her question halfway through.

I shrugged. "Just needed a change." I recognised the song on the radio then and quickly reached for the dial. "Do you mind?" I asked.

"No, go ahead." I scanned through the stations until I found one that was harmless. I peeked at Honey's expression as the new music filled the car. Her eyes squinted. "Since when do you listen to rap?"

"I don't know," I said, "A while."

"You like this?" she asked doubtfully.

"Sure."It would be much too hard to interact with Honey normally if I had to work to tune out the music, too. I nodded my head, hoping I was in time with the beat.

"Okay" She stared out the windshield with wide eyes.

"So what's up with you and Kristoff these days?" I asked quickly.

"You see him more than I do." The question hadn't started her talking like I'd hoped it would.

"It's hard to talk at work," I mumbled, and then I tried again. "Have you been out with anyone lately?"

"Not really. I go out with Tadahsi sometimes. I went out with him just two weeks ago." She rolled her eyes and I sensed a long story. I clutched at the opportunity.

"Tadashi Hamada? Who asked who?"

She groaned, getting more animated. "He did, of course! I couldn't think of a nice way to say no." "Where did he take you?" I demanded, knowing she would interpret my eagerness as interest. "Tell me all about it."

She launched into her tale, and I settled into my seat, more comfortable now. I paid strict attention, murmuring in sympathy and gasping in horror as called for.

The movie was playing early, so Honey thought we should hit the twilight showing and eat later. I was happy to go along with whatever she wanted; after all, I was getting what I wanted—Stoick off my back.

I kept Honey talking through the previews, so I could ignore them more easily. But I got nervous when the movie started. A young couple was walking along a beach, swinging hands and discussing their mutual affection with gooey falseness. I resisted the urge to cover my ears and start humming. I had not bargained for a romance.

"I thought we picked the zombie movie," I hissed to Honey.

"This is the zombie movie."

"Then why isn't anyone getting eaten?" I asked desperately.

She looked at me with wide eyes that were almost alarmed. "I'm sure that part's coming," she whispered.

"I'm getting popcorn. Do you want any?" "No, thanks." Someone shushed us from behind.

I took my time at the concession counter, watching the clock and debating what percentage of a ninety-minute movie could be spent on romantic exposition. I decided ten minutes was more than enough, but I paused just inside the theatre doors to be sure. I could hear horrified screams blaring from the speakers, so I knew I'd waited long enough.

"You missed everything," Honey murmured when I slid back into my seat. "Almost everyone is a zombie now."

"Long line." I offered her some popcorn. She took a handful.

The rest of the movie was comprised of gruesome zombie attacks and endless screaming from the handful of people left alive, their numbers dwindling quickly. I would have thought there was nothing in that to disturb me. But I felt uneasy, and I wasn't sure why at first.

It wasn't until almost the very end, as I watched a haggard zombie shambling after the last shrieking survivor, that I realised what the problem was. The scene kept cutting between the horrified face of the heroine, and the dead, emotionless face of her pursuer, back and forth as it closed the distance.

And I realised which one resembled me the most.

I stood up.

"Where are you going? There's, like, two minutes left," Honey hissed.

"I need a drink," I muttered as I raced for the exit.

I sat down on the bench outside the theatre door and tried very hard not to think of the irony. But it was ironic, all things considered, that, in the end, I would wind up as a zombie. I hadn't seen that one coming.

Not that I hadn't dreamed of becoming a mythical monster once, just never a grotesque, animated corpse. I shook my head to dislodge that train of thought, feeling panicky. I couldn't afford to think about what I'd once dreamed of.

It was depressing to realise that I wasn't the heroine anymore, that my story was over.

Honey came out of the theatre doors and hesitated, probably wondering where the best place was to search for me. When she saw me, she looked relieved but only for a moment. Then she looked irritated.

"Was the movie too scary for you?" she wondered.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I guess I'm just a coward." "That's funny." She frowned. "I didn't think you were scared, I was screaming all the time but I didn't hear you scream once. So I didn't know why you left."

I shrugged, "Just scared."

She relaxed a little.

"That was the scariest movie I think I've ever seen. I'll bet we're going to have nightmares tonight." "No doubt about that," I said, trying to keep my voice normal. It was inevitable that I would have nightmares, but they wouldn't be about zombies. Her eyes flashed to my face and away. Maybe I hadn't succeeded with the normal voice.

"Where do you want to eat?" Honey asked.

"I don't care." "Okay." Honey started talking about the male lead in the movie as we walked. I nodded as she gushed over his hotness, unable to remember seeing a non-zombie man at all.

I didn't watch where Honey was leading me. I was only vaguely aware that it was dark and quieter now. It took me longer than it should have to realise why it was quiet. Honey had stopped babbling. I looked at her apologetically, hoping I hadn't hurt her feelings.

Honey wasn't looking at me. Her face was tense; she stared straight ahead and walked fast. As I watched, her eyes darted quickly to the right, across the road, and back again.

I glanced around myself for the first time.

We were on a short stretch of unlit sidewalk. The little shops lining the street were all locked up for the night, windows black. Half a block ahead, the streetlights started up again, and I could see, farther down, the bright golden arches of the McDonald's she was heading for.

Across the street, there was one open business. The windows were covered from inside and there were neon signs, advertisements for different brands of beer, glowing in front of them. The biggest sign, in brilliant green, was the name of the bar, One-Eyed Pete's. I wondered if there was some pirate that was not visible from outside. The metal door was propped open; it was dimly lit inside, and the low murmur of many voices and the sound of ice clinking in glasses floated across the street. Lounging against the wall beside the door were four men.

I glanced back at Honey. Her eyes were fixed on the path ahead and she moved briskly. She didn't look frightened, just wary, trying to not attract attention to herself.

I paused without thinking, looking back at the four men with a strong sense of déjà vu. This was a different road, a different night, but the scene was so much the same. One of them was even short and dark. As I stopped and turned toward them, that one looked up in interest.

I stared back at him, frozen on the sidewalk.

"Hiccup?" Honey whispered. "What are you doing?" I shook my head, not sure myself. "I think I know them…" I muttered.

What was I doing? I should be running from this memory as fast as I could, blocking the image of the four lounging men from my mind, protecting myself with the numbness I couldn't function without. Why was I stepping, dazed, into the street?

It seemed too coincidental that I should be in Port Angeles with Honey, on a dark street even. My eyes focused on the short one, trying to match the features to my memory of the man who had threatened me that night almost a year ago. I wondered if there was any way I would recognise the man if it was really him. That particular part of that particular evening was just a blur. My body remembered it better than my mind did; the tension in my legs as I tried to decide whether to run or to stand my ground, the dryness in my throat as I struggled to build a decent scream, the tight stretch of skin across my knuckles as I clenched my hands into fists, the chills on the back of my neck when the dark-haired man called me "sugar."…There was an indefinite, implied kind of menace to these men that had nothing to do with that other night.

It sprung from the fact that they were strangers, and it was dark here, and they outnumbered us—nothingmore specific than that. But it was enough that Honey's voice cracked in panic as she called after me.

"Hiccup, come on!"

I ignored her, walking slowly forward without ever making the conscious decision to move my feet. I didn't understand why, but the nebulous threat the men presented drew me toward them. It was a senseless impulse, but I hadn't felt any kind of impulse in so long I followed it.

Something unfamiliar beat through my veins. Adrenaline, I realised, long absent from my system, drumming my pulse faster and fighting against the lack of sensation. It was strange—why the adrenaline when there was no fear? It was almost as if it were an echo of the last time I'd stood like this, on a dark street in Port Angeles with strangers.

I saw no reason for fear. I couldn't imagine anything in the world that there was left to be afraid of, not physically at least. One of the few advantages of losing everything.

I was halfway across the street when Honey caught up to me and grabbed my arm.

"Hiccup! You can't go in a bar!" she hissed.

"I'm not going in," I said absently, shaking her hand off.

"I just want to see something"

"Are you crazy?" she whispered. "Are you suicidal?" That question caught my attention, and my eyes focused on her.

"No, I'm not." My voice sounded defensive, but it was true. I wasn't suicidal. Even in the beginning, when death unquestionably would have been a relief, I didn't consider it. I owed too much to Stoick. I felt too responsible for Valka. I had to think of them and I'd made a promise not to do anything stupid or reckless. For all those reasons, I was still breathing.

Remembering that promise. I felt a twinge of guilt but what I was doing right now didn't really count. It wasn't like I was taking a blade to my wrists.

Honey's eyes were round, her mouth hung open. Her question about suicide had been rhetorical, I realised too late.

"Go eat," I encouraged her, waving toward the fast food. I didn't like the way she looked at me. "I'll catch up in a minute." I turned away from her, back to the men who were watching us with amused, curious eyes.

"Hiccup, stop this right now!" My muscles locked into place, froze me where I stood. Because it wasn't Honey's voice that rebuked me now. It was a furious voice, a familiar voice, a beautiful voice, soft like velvet even though it was irate. It was his voice, I was exceptionally careful not to think his name and I was surprised that the sound of it did not knock me to my knees, did not curl me onto the pavement in a torture of loss. But there was no pain, none at all.

In the instant that I heard his voice, everything was very clear. Like my head had suddenly surfaced out of some dark pool. I was more aware of everything—sight, sound, the feel of the cold air that I hadn't noticed was blowing sharply against my face, the smells coming from the open bar door.

I looked around myself in shock.

"Go back to Honey," the lovely voice ordered, still angry. "You promised—nothing stupid." I was alone. Honey stood a few feet from me, staring at me with frightened eyes. Against the wall, the strangers watched, confused, wondering what I was doing, standing there motionless in the middle of the street.

I shook my head, trying to understand. I knew he wasn't there, and yet, he felt improbably close, close for the first time since, since the end. The anger in his voice was concern, the same anger that was once very familiar—something I hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime.

"Keep your promise." The voice was slipping away as if the volume was being turned down on a radio.

I began to suspect that I was having some kind of hallucination. Triggered, no doubt, by the memory, the deja vu, the strange familiarity of the situation. I ran through the possibilities quickly in my head.

Option one: I was crazy. That was the layman's term for people who heard voices in their heads.

Possible.

Option two: My subconscious mind was giving me what it thought I wanted. This was wish fulfilment, a momentary relief from pain by embracing the incorrect idea that he cared whether I lived or died.

Projecting what he would have said if A) he was here and B) he would be in any way bothered by something bad happening to me.

Probable.

I could see no option three, so I hoped it was the second option and this was just my subconscious running amuck, rather than something I would need to be hospitalised for. My reaction was hardly sane, though, I was grateful. The sound of his voice was something that I'd feared I was losing, and so, more than anything else, I felt overwhelming gratitude that my unconscious mind had held onto that sound better than my conscious one had.

I was not allowed to think of him. That was something I tried to be very strict about. Of course, I slipped; I was only human. But I was getting better and so the pain was something I could avoid for days at a time now. The tradeoff was the never-ending numbness. Between pain and nothing, I'd chosen nothing.

I waited for the pain now. I was not numb my senses felt unusually intense after so many months of the haze but the normal pain held off. The only ache was the disappointment that his voice was fading.

There was a second of choice.

The wise thing would be to run away from this potentially destructive and certainly mentally unstable development. It would be stupid to encourage hallucinations. But his voice was fading.

I took another step forward, testing.

"Hiccup, turn around," he growled.

I sighed in relief. The anger was what I wanted to hear false, fabricated evidence that he cared, a dubious gift from my subconscious.

Very few seconds had passed while I sorted this all out. My little audience watched, curious. It probably looked like I was just dithering over whether or not I was going to approach them. How could they guess that I was standing there enjoying an unexpected moment of insanity?

"Hi," one of the men called, his tone both confident and a bit sarcastic. He was fair-skinned and fair-haired, and he stood with the assurance of someone who thought of himself as quite good-looking. I couldn't tell whether he was or not. I was prejudiced.

The voice in my head answered with an exquisite snarl. I smiled, and the confident man seemed to take that as encouragement.

"Can I help you with something? You look lost." He grinned and winked.

I stepped carefully over the gutter, running with water that was black in the darkness.

"No. I'm not lost."

Now that I was closer and my eyes felt oddly in focus, I analysed the short, dark man's face. It was not familiar in any way. I suffered a curious sensation of disappointment that this was not the terrible man who had tried to hurt me almost a year ago. The voice in my head was quiet now.

The short man noticed my stare. "Can I buy you a drink?" he offered, nervous, seeming flattered that I'd singled him out to stare at.

"I'm too young," I answered automatically.

He was baffled, wondering why I had approached them. I felt compelled to explain.

"From across the street, you looked like someone I knew. Sorry, my mistake."

The threat that had pulled me across the street had evaporated. These were not the dangerous men I remembered. They were probably nice guys. Safe. I lost interest.

"That's okay," the confident blonde said. "Stay and hang out with us."

"Thanks, but I can't."

Honey was hesitating in the middle of the street, her eyes wide with outrage and betrayal.

"Oh, just a few minutes."

I shook my head and turned to rejoin Honey.

"Let's go eat," I suggested, barely glancing at her. Though I appeared to be, for the moment, freed of the zombie abstraction, I was just as distant. My mind was preoccupied. The safe, numb deadness did not come back, and I got more anxious with every minute that passed without its return.

"What were you thinking?" Honey snapped. "You don't know them—they could have been psychopaths!"

I shrugged, wishing she would let it go.

"I just thought I knew the one guy."You are so odd, Hiccup Haddock. I feel like I don't know who you are."

"Sorry." I didn't know what else to say to that.

We walked to McDonald's in silence. I'd bet that she was wishing we'd taken her car instead of walking the short distance from the theatre so that she could use the drive-through. She was just as anxious now for this evening to be over as I had been from the beginning. I tried to start a conversation a few times while we ate, but Honey was not cooperative. I must have really offended her.

When we got back in the car, she turned the stereo back to her favourite station and turned the volume too loud to allow easy conversation. I didn't have to struggle as hard as usual to ignore the music. Even though my mind, for once, was not carefully numb and empty, I had too much to think about to hear the lyrics.

I waited for the numbness to return, or the pain. Because the pain must be coming. I'd broken my personal rules. Instead of shying away from the memories, I'd walked forward and greeted them. I'd heard his voice, so clearly, in my head. That was going to cost me, I was sure of it. Especially if I couldn't reclaim the haze to protect myself. I felt too alert, and that frightened me.

But relief was still the strongest emotion in my body—relief that came from the very core of my being.

As much as I struggled not to think of him, I did not struggle to forget. I worried—late in the night when the exhaustion of sleep deprivation broke down my defenses—that it was all slipping away. That my mind was a sieve, and I would someday not be able to remember the precise colour of his eyes, the feel of his cool skin, or the texture of his voice. I could not think of them, but I must remember them.

Because there was just one thing that I had to believe to be able to live—I had to know that he existed.

That was all. Everything else I could endure. So long as he existed.

That's why I was more trapped in Burgess than I ever had been before, why I'd fought with Stoick when he suggested a change. Honestly, it shouldn't matter; no one was ever coming back here. But if I were to go to Berk, or anywhere else bright and unfamiliar, how could I be sure he was real? In a place where I could never imagine him, the conviction might fade and that I could not live through.

Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.

I was surprised when Honey stopped the car in front of my house. The ride had not taken long, but, short as it seemed, I wouldn't have thought that Honey could go that long without speaking.

"Thanks for going out with me, Honey," I said as I opened my door. "That was fun." I hoped that fun was the appropriate word.

"Sure," she muttered.

"I'm sorry about after the movie."

"Whatever, Hiccup." She glared out the windshield instead of looking at me. She seemed to be growing angrier rather than getting over it.

"See you Monday?"

"Yeah. Bye."

I gave up and shut the door. She drove away, still without looking at me. I'd forgotten her by the time I was inside. Stoick was waiting for me in the middle of the hall, his arms folded tight across his chest with his hands balled into fists.

"Hey, Dad," I said absentmindedly as I ducked around Stoick, heading for the stairs. I'd been thinking about him for too long, and I wanted to be upstairs before it caught up with me.

"Where have you been?" Stoick demanded.

I looked at my dad, surprised. "I went to a movie in Port Angeles with Honey. Like I told you this morning."

"Humph," he grunted.

"Is that okay?"He studied my face, his eyes widening as if he saw something unexpected.

"Yeah, that's fine. Did you have fun?"

"Sure," I said. "We watched zombies eat people. It was great."

His eyes narrowed.

"Night, Dad." He let me pass. I hurried to my room.

I lay in my bed a few minutes later, resigned as the pain finally made its appearance.

It was a crippling thing, this sensation that a huge hole had been punched through my chest, excising my most vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time. Rationally, I knew my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasped for air and my head spun like my efforts yielded me nothing. My heart must have been beating, too, but I couldn't hear the sound of my pulse in my ears; my hands felt blue with cold. I curled inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together. I scrambled for my numbness, my denial, but it evaded me.

And yet, I found I could survive. I was alert, I felt the pain the aching loss that radiated out from my chest, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs and head but it was manageable. I could live through it. It didn't feel like the pain had weakened over time, rather that I'd grown strong enough to bear it.

Whatever it was that had happened tonight and whether it was the zombies, the adrenaline, or the hallucinations that were responsible it had woken me up.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to expect in the morning.

 _ **Author's Note - This chapter is one of my favourites in the books, I just find it very interesting. Anyways I hope you all enjoyed this story and have a good day everyone.**_


	5. Chapter 5: Cheater

_**Author's Note - Hi everyone and welcome back to the next chapter and let the Toothcup/Frostcup train continue. *Makes train noises***_

 _ **Hiccup's P.O.V:**_

"Hiccup, why don't you take off," Tadashi suggested, his eyes focused off to the side, not really looking at me. I wondered how long that had been going on without me noticing.

It was a slow afternoon at Hamada's. At the moment there were only two people in the cafe, dedicated backpackers from the sound of their conversation.

"I don't mind staying," I said. I still hadn't been able to sink back into my protective shell of numbness, and everything seemed oddly close and loud today like I'd taken the cotton out of my ears. I tried to tune out the laughing hikers without success.

"I'm telling you," said the thickset man with the orange beard that didn't match his dark brown hair. "I've seen grizzlies pretty close up in Yellowstone, but they had nothing on this brute." His hair was matted, and his clothes looked like they'd been on his back for more than a few days. Fresh from the mountains.

"Not a chance. Black bears don't get that big. The grizzlies you saw were probably cubs." The second man was tall and lean, his face tanned and wind-whipped into an impressive leathery crust.

"Seriously, Hiccup, as soon as these two give up, I'm closing the place down," Tadashi murmured.

"If you want me to go…" I shrugged.

"On all fours, it was taller than you," the bearded man insisted while I gathered my things together. "Big as a house and pitch-black. I'm going to report it to the ranger here. People ought to be warned—this wasn't up on the mountain, mind you—this was only a few miles from the trailhead." Leather-face laughed and rolled his eyes. "Let me guess—you were on your way in? Hadn't eaten real food or slept off the ground in a week, right?"

"Hey, uh, Tadashi, right?" the bearded man called, looking toward us.

"See you Monday," I mumbled.

"Yes, sir," Tadashi replied, turning away.

"Say, have there been any warnings around here recently—about black bears?" "No, sir. But it's always good to keep your distance and store your food correctly. Have you seen the new bear-safe canisters? They only weigh two pounds…"

The doors slid open to let me out into the rain. I hunched over inside my jacket as I dashed for my truck. The rain hammering against my hood sounded unusually loud, too, but soon the roar of the engine drowned out everything else.

I didn't want to go back to Stoick's empty house. Last night had been particularly brutal, and I had no desire to revisit the scene of the suffering. Even after the pain had subsided enough for me to sleep, it wasn't over. Like I'd told Honey after the movie, there was never any doubt that I would have nightmares.

I always had nightmares now, every night. Not nightmares really, not in the plural, because it was always the same nightmare. You'd think I'd get bored after so many months grow immune to it. But the dream never failed to horrify me, and only ended when I woke myself with screaming. Stoick didn't come in to see what was wrong anymore, to make sure there was no intruder strangling me or something like that—he was used to it now.

My nightmare probably wouldn't even frighten someone else. Nothing jumped out and screamed, "Boo!" There were no zombies, no ghosts, no psychopaths. There was nothing, really. Only nothing. Just the endless maze of moss-covered trees, so quiet that the silence was an uncomfortable pressure against my eardrums. It was dark, like dusk on a cloudy day, with only enough light to see that there was nothing to see.

I hurried through the gloom without a path, always searching, searching, searching, getting more frantic as the time stretched on, trying to move faster, though the speed made me clums. Then there would come the point in my dream—and I could feel it coming now, but could never seem to wake myself up before it hit—when I couldn't remember what it was that I was searching for. When I realised that there was nothing to search for and nothing to find. That there had never been anything more than just this empty, dreary wood, and there never would be anything more for me… nothing but nothing. That was usually about when the screaming started.

I wasn't paying attention to where I was driving, just wandering through empty, wet side roads as I avoided the ways that would take me home, because I didn't have anywhere to go.

I wished I could feel numb again, but I couldn't remember how I'd managed it before. The nightmare was nagging at my mind and making me think about things that would cause me pain. I didn't want to remember the forest. Even as I shuddered away from the images, I felt my eyes fill with tears and the aching begins around the edges of the hole in my chest. I took one hand from the steering wheel and wrapped it around my torso to hold it in one piece.

It will be as if I'd never existed. The words ran through my head, lacking the perfect clarity of my hallucination last night. They were just words, soundless, like print on a page. Just words, but they ripped the hole wide open, and I stomped on the brake, knowing I should not drive while this incapacitated.

I curled over, pressing my face against the steering wheel and trying to breathe without lungs.

I wondered how long this could last. Maybe someday, years from now, if the pain would just decrease to the point where I could bear it, I would be able to look back on those few short months that would always be the best of my life. And, if it were possible that the pain would ever soften enough to allow me to do that, I was sure that I would feel grateful for as much time as he'd given me. More than I'd asked for, more than I'd deserved. Maybe someday I'd be able to see it that way.

But what if this hole never got any better? If the raw edges never healed? If the damage was permanent and irreversible?

I held myself tightly together. As if he'd never existed, I thought in despair. What a stupid and impossible promise to make! He could steal my pictures and reclaim his gifts, but that didn't put things back the way they'd been before I'd met him. The physical evidence was the most insignificant part of the equation. I was changed, my insides altered almost past the point of recognition. Even my outsides looked different—my face sallow, white except for the purple circles the nightmares had left under my eyes. My eyes were dark enough against my pallid skin that, if I were beautiful, and seen from adistance, I might even pass for a vampire now. But I was not beautiful and I probably looked closer to a zombie.

As if he'd never existed? That was insanity. It was a promise that he could never keep, a promise that was broken as soon as he'd made it. I thumped my head against the steering wheel, trying to distract myself from the sharper pain. It made me feel silly for ever worrying about keeping my promise. Where was the logic in sticking to an agreement that had already been violated by the other party? Who cared if I was reckless and stupid?

There was no reason to avoid recklessness, no reason why I shouldn't get to be stupid. I laughed humorlessly to myself, still gasping for air. Reckless in Burgess, now there was a hopeless proposition.

The dark humour distracted me, and the distraction eased the pain. My breath came easier, and I was able to lean back against the seat. Though it was cold today, my forehead was damp with sweat.

I concentrated on my hopeless proposition to keep from sliding back into the excruciating memories. To be reckless in Burgess would take a lot of creativity, maybe more than I had. But I wished I could find some way… I might feel better if I weren't holding fast, all alone, to a broken pact. If I were an oath-breaker, too. But how could I cheat on my side of the deal, here in this harmless little town? Of course, Burgess hadn't always been so harmless, but now it was exactly what it had always appeared to be. It was dull, it was safe.

I stared out the windshield for a long moment, my thoughts moving sluggishly I couldn't seem to make those thoughts go anywhere. I cut the engine, which was groaning in a pitiful way after idling for so long, and stepped out into the drizzle. The cold rain dripped through my hair and then trickled across my cheeks like freshwater tears. It helped to clear my head. I blinked the water from my eyes, staring blankly across the road.

After a minute of staring, I recognised where I was. I'd parked in the middle of the north lane of Russell Avenue. I was standing in front of the Cheneys' house, my truck was blocking their driveway and across the road lived the Markses. I knew I needed to move my truck, and that I ought to go home. It was wrong to wander the way I had, distracted and impaired, a menace on the roads of Burgess. Besides, someone would notice me soon enough and report me to Stoick.

As I took a deep breath in preparation to move, a sign in the Markses' yard caught my eye, it was just a big piece of cardboard leaning against their mailbox post, with black letters scrawled in caps across it.

Sometimes, kismet happens.

Coincidence? Or was it meant to be? I didn't know, but it seemed kind of silly to think that it was somehow fated, that the dilapidated motorcycles rusting in the Markses' front yard beside the hand-printed for sale, as is sign were serving some higher purpose by existing there, right where I needed them to be.

So maybe it wasn't kismet. Maybe there were just all kinds of ways to be reckless, and I only now had my eyes open to them. Reckless and stupid. Those were Stoick's two very favourite words to apply to motorcycles.

Stoick's job didn't get a lot of action compared to cops in bigger towns, but he did get called in on traffic accidents. With the long, wet stretches of freeway twisting and turning through the forest, blind corner after blind corner, there was no shortage of that kind of action. But even with all the huge log-haulers barreling around the turns, mostly people walked away. The exceptions to that rule were often on motorcycles, and Stoick had seen one too many victims, almost always kids, smeared on the highway.

He'd made me promise before I was ten that I would never accept a ride on a motorcycle. Even at that age, I didn't have to think twice before promising. Who would want to ride a motorcycle here? It would be like taking a sixty-mile-per-hour bath. So many promises I kept… It clicked together for me then. I wanted to be stupid and reckless, and I wanted to break promises.

Why stop at one?

That's as far as I thought it through. I sloshed through the rain to the Markses' front door and rang the bell. One of the Marks boys opened the door, the younger one, the freshman. I couldn't remember his name.

His sandy hair only came up to my shoulder.

He had no trouble remembering my name. "Hiccup Haddock?" he asked in surprise.

"How much do you want for the bike?" I panted, jerking my thumb over my shoulder toward the sales display.

"Are you serious?" he demanded.

"Of course I am."

"They don't work." I sighed impatiently, this was something I'd already inferred from the sign.

"How much?"

"If you really want one, just take it. My mom made my dad move them down to the road so they'd get picked up with the garbage." I glanced at the bikes again and saw that they were resting on a pile of yard clippings and dead branches.

"Are you positive about that?"

"Sure, you want to ask her?" It was probably better not to involve adults who might mention this to Stoick.

"No, I believe you."

"You want me to help you?" he offered.

"They're not light."

"Okay, thanks. I only need one, though."

"Might as well take both," the boy said, "Maybe you could scavenge some parts." He followed me out into the downpour and helped me load both of the heavy bikes into the back of my truck. He seemed eager to be rid of them, so I didn't argue.

"What are you going to do with them, anyway?" he asked. "They haven't worked in years." "I kind of guessed that," I said, shrugging. My spur-of-the-moment whim hadn't come with a plan intact.

"Maybe I'll take them to Dowling's."

He snorted. "Dowling would charge more to fix them than they'd be worth running." I couldn't argue with that. John Dowling had earned a reputation for his pricing; no one went to him except in an emergency. Most people preferred to make the drive up to Port Angeles if their car was able.

I'd been very lucky on that front, I'd been worried when Stoick first gifted me my ancient truck, that I wouldn't be able to afford to keep it running. But I'd never had a single problem with it, other than the screaming-loud engine and the fifty-five-mile-per-hour maximum speed limit. Toothless had kept it in great shape when it had belonged to his father, Gobber. Inspiration hit like a bolt of lightning, not unreasonable, considering the storm. "You know what? That's okay. I know someone who builds cars."

"Oh. That's good." He smiled in relief.

He waved as I pulled away, still smiling. Friendly kid.

I drove quickly and purposefully now, in a hurry to get home before there was the slightest chance of Stoick appearing, even in the highly unlikely event that he might knock off early. I dashed through the house to the phone, keys still in hand.

"Chief Haddock, please," I said when the deputy answered. "It's Hiccup." "Oh, hey, Hiccup," Deputy Steve said affably. "I'll go get him."I waited.

"What's wrong, Hiccup?" Stoick demanded as soon as he picked up the phone.

"Can't I call you at work without there being an emergency?" He was quiet for a minute. "You never have before. Is there an emergency?"

"No. I just wanted directions to the Gobber's place—I'm not sure I can remember the way. I want to visit Toothless. I haven't seen him in months."When Stoick spoke again, his voice was much happier. "That's a great idea, Hiccup. Do you have a pen?"

The directions he gave me were very simple. I assured him that I would be back for dinner, though he tried to tell me not to hurry. He wanted to join me in La Push, and I wasn't having that. So it was with a deadline that I drove too quickly through the storm-darkened streets out of town. I hoped I could get Toothless alone. Gobber would probably tell on me if he knew what I was up to.

While I drove, I worried a little bit about Gobber's reaction to seeing me. He would be too pleased. In Gobber's mind, no doubt, this had all worked out better than he had dared to hope. His pleasure and relief would only remind me of the one I couldn't bear to be reminded of. Not again today, I pleaded silently.

I was spent.

Gobber's house was vaguely familiar, a small wooden place with narrow windows, the dull red paint making it resemble a tiny barn. Toothless' head peered out of the window before I could even get out of the truck. No doubt the familiar roar of the engine had tipped him off to my approach. Toothless had been very grateful when Stoick bought Gobber's truck for me, saving Toothless from having to drive it when he came of age. I liked my truck very much, but Toothless seemed to consider the speed restrictions a shortcoming.

He met me halfway to the house.

"Hiccup!" His excited grin stretched wide across his face, the bright teeth standing in vivid contrast to the deep russet colour of his skin. I'd never seen his hair out of its usual ponytail before. It fell like black satin curtains on either side of his broad face.

Toothless had grown into some of his potential in the last eight months. He'd passed that point where the soft muscles of childhood hardened into the solid, lanky build of a teenager; the tendons and veins had become prominent under the red-brown skin of his arms, his hands. His face was still sweet like I remembered it, though it had hardened, too, the planes of his cheekbones sharper, his jaw squared off, all childish roundness gone.

"Hey, Toothless!" I felt an unfamiliar surge of enthusiasm at his smile. I realised that I was pleased to see him.

This knowledge surprised me.

I smiled back, and something clicked silently into place, like two corresponding puzzle pieces. I'd forgotten how much I really liked Toothless. He stopped a few feet away from me, and I stared up at him in surprise, leaning my head back through the rain pelting my face.

"You grew again!" I accused in amazement.

He laughed, his smile widening impossibly. "Six-five," he announced with self-satisfaction. His voice was deeper, but it had the husky tone I remembered.

"Is it ever going to stop?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You're huge." "Still a beanpole, though." He grimaced.

"Come inside! You're getting all wet."He led the way, twisting his hair in his big hands as he walked. He pulled a rubber band from his hip pocket and wound it around the bundle.

"Hey, Dad," he called as he ducked to get through the front door. "Look who stopped by." Gobber was in the tiny square living room, a book in his hands. He set the book in his lap and wheeled himself forward when he saw me.

"Well, what do you know! It's good to see you, Hiccup."We shook hands. Mine was lost in his wide grasp.

"What brings you out here? Everything okay with Stoick?"

"Yes, absolutely. I just wanted to see Toothless, I haven't seen him in forever." Toothless's eyes brightened at my words. He was smiling so big it looked like it would hurt his cheeks.

"Can you stay for dinner?" Gobber was eager, too.

"No, I've got to feed Stoick, you know."

"I'll call him now," Gobber suggested.

"He's always invited."I laughed to hide my discomfort. "It's not like you'll never see me again. I promise I'll be back again soon, so much you'll get sick of me." After all, if Toothless could fix the bike, someone had to teach me how to ride it.

Gobber chuckled in response. "Okay, maybe next time."

"So, Hiccup, what do you want to do?" Toothless asked.

"Whatever. What were you doing before I interrupted?" I was strangely comfortable here. It was familiar, but only distantly. There were no painful reminders of the recent past.

Toothless hesitated. "I was just heading out to work on my car, but we can do something else…"

"No, that's perfect!" I interrupted. "I'd love to see your car."

"Okay," he said, not convinced.

"It's out back, in the garage." Even better, I thought to myself. I waved at Gobber. "See you later."A thick stand of trees and shrubbery concealed his garage from the house. The garage was no more than a couple of big preformed sheds that had been bolted together with their interior walls knocked out.

Under this shelter, raised on cinder blocks, was what looked to me like a completed automobile. I recognised the symbol on the grille, at least.

"What kind of Volkswagen is that?" I asked.

"It's an old Rabbit—1986, a classic."

"How's it going?"

"Almost finished," he said cheerfully. And then his voice dropped into a lower key. "My dad made good on his promise last spring."

"Ah," I said.

He seemed to understand my reluctance to open the subject. I tried not to remember last May at the prom. Toothless had been bribed by his father with money and car parts to deliver a message there. Gobber wanted me to stay a safe distance from the most important person in my life. It turned out that his concern was, in the end, unnecessary. I was all too safe now.

But I was going to see what I could do to change that.

"Toothless, what do you know about motorcycles?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Some. My friend Stormfly has a dirt bike. We work on it together sometimes. Why?" "Well…" I pursed my lips as I considered. I wasn't sure if he could keep his mouth shut, but I didn't have many other options. "I recently acquired a couple of bikes, and they're not in the greatest condition. I wonder if you could get them running?"

"Cool." He seemed truly pleased by the challenge. His face glowed. "I'll give it a try."

I held up one finger in warning. "The thing is," I explained, "Stoick doesn't approve of motorcycles. Honestly, he'd probably bust a vein in his forehead if he knew about this. So you can't tell Gobber."

"Sure, sure." Toothless smiled. "I understand."

"I'll pay you," I continued.

This offended him. "No. I want to help. You can't pay me. "

"Well… how about a trade, then?" I was making this up as I went, but it seemed reasonable enough. "I only need one bike and I'll need lessons, too. So how about this? I'll give you the other bike and then you can teach me."

"Swee-eet." He made the word into two syllables.

"Wait a sec—are you legal yet? When's your birthday?"

"You missed it," he teased, narrowing his eyes in mock resentment. "I'm sixteen." "Not that your age ever stopped you before," I muttered. "Sorry about your birthday." "Don't worry about it. I missed yours. What are you, forty?" I sniffed. "Close." "We'll have a joint party to make up for it."

"Sounds like a date." His eyes sparkled at the word.

I needed to reign in the enthusiasm before I gave him the wrong idea—it was just that it had been a long time since I'd felt so light and buoyant. The rarity of the feeling made it more difficult to manage.

"Maybe when the bikes are finished, our present to ourselves," I added.

"Deal. When will you bring them down?" I bit my lip, embarrassed. "They're in my truck now," I admitted.

"Great." He seemed to mean it.

"Will Gobber see if we bring them around?"

He winked at me. "We'll be sneaky."

We eased around from the east, sticking to the trees when we were in view of the windows, affecting a casual-looking stroll, just in case. Toothless unloaded the bikes swiftly from the truck bed, wheeling them one by one into the shrubbery where I hid. It looked too easy for him, I'd remembered the bikes being much, much heavier than that.

"These aren't half bad," Toothless appraised as we pushed them through the cover of the trees. "This one here will actually be worth something when I'm done, it's an old Harley Sprint."

"That one's yours, then."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"These are going to take some cash, though," he said, frowning down at the blackened metal. "We'll have to save up for parts first." "We nothing," I disagreed. "If you're doing this for free, I'll pay for the parts." "I don't know…" he muttered.

"I've got some money saved. College fund, you know." College, I thought to myself. It wasn't like I'd saved up enough to go anywhere special and besides, I had no desire to leave Burgess anyway. What difference would it make if I skimmed a little bit off the top?

Toothless just nodded. This all made perfect sense to him.

As we skulked back to the makeshift garage, I contemplated my luck. Only a teenage boy would agree to this: deceiving both our parents while repairing dangerous vehicles using money meant for my college education. He didn't see anything wrong with that picture. Toothless was a gift from the gods.

 _ **Author's Note - Yeah! While I may only write Hijack/Frostcup stories, I'm also a shipper of Human Toothless x Hiccup. Anyways I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and sorry for not updating this story for nearly a month, but I was so busy studying for and doing my finals that I didn't have any time to myself. So apologise once again.**_


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